The Life and Times of Neville Longbottom, Wizard
by Peradan
Summary: Neville Longbottom enters his first year at Hogwarts armed only with a hyperactive wand, constant advice from his senile relations, the friendship of his wily cousin, Harry Potter, and a lightning bolt scar on his forehead.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Frank Longbottom, handsome, magically powerful, and well-born, was the best of the best by the Death Eaters' credo. He befuddled his allies and enemies alike by publicly blaming the decline of wizarding culture on 'Mugglification' (a charming term coined by Abraxas Malfoy) and three weeks later naming Lily Potter godmother to his firstborn son. The Order smiled their relief at the young Auror's sudden reversal; the Death Eaters suspected a cunning plot.

Both were mistaken, but the world would never discover it. The Potters and Longbottoms spent half of 1980 and most of 1981 fleeing from refuge to refuge, finally driven to a small village in Yorkshire, where James Potter owned an abandoned and half-forgotten house. Between Lily's ever-brilliant spellwork and the inspired choice of unassuming Peter Pettigrew as Secret-Keeper, they anticipated, for the first time in years, something akin to safety.

Instead, the Secret was betrayed, and the Dark Lord appeared in their new home. Alice Longbottom, the fastest duellist to come out of Hogwarts in twenty-five years, tried to delay him and was instantly killed. Frank rushed to the nursery, unable to Floo or Apparate out, but determined to protect Neville and Harry or die trying.

And since he was _Frank Longbottom_, pureblood extraordinaire, he was given a choice. He could step aside, hand his son and his cousin over, and he would live. The Dark Lord couldn't know that there was no plot and never had been. Frank believed in the old traditions, and so he supported them; he trusted his best friend, Lily, and so he could think of nobody better to be Neville's godmother. As far as Frank Longbottom was concerned, there was never any choice, and so he died.

_**1 November 1981 THE DAILY PROPHET Price: 5 Knuts**_

**He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Defeated!**

Last evening, You Know Who went in search of two couples who carried the distinction of being among his greatest enemies: James and Lily Potter (for the true story behind this unlikely pairing, see June 1976 article Star Crossed Lovers? Potter Heir and Muggleborn Beauty Engaged!), and highly successful Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom.

The Potters and Longbottoms disappeared from the public eye over six months ago, due to an as yet undisclosed threat, and were preparing to hide under the incredibly complex Fidelius Charm (Charms experts discuss on page E3). Sirius Black, a friend and cousin of Mr Potter's as well as of Mr and Mrs Longbottom's, was their first choice of Secret Keeper, but they quickly switched to former schoolmate Peter Pettigrew.

It was a tragic mistake. Pettigrew, who includes among his other secrets an illegal Animagus form (a common rat, see right), has been feeding information to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his Death Eaters for over a year. He betrayed his friends to the Dark Lord, who promptly went to the safe house in Godric's Hollow, North Yorkshire.

Quickly and efficiently, he killed both Longbottoms, and went to the nursery, where the Potters' and Longbottoms' sons, Harry and Neville, peacefully slept. He cast the Killing Curse once again and then, the Dark Lord, for years the scourge of the wizarding world, was defeated by a fifteen month old boy. Harry was physically unharmed by the traumatic experience, but the newly orphaned Neville was left with a lightning shaped scar on his forehead, mark of the day he lived where all others have perished.

_**12 November 1981 THE DAILY PROPHET Price: 5 Knuts**_

**Potters Receive Guardianship of Boy-Who-Lived!**

Today's reading of Mr Frank Longbottom's will settled all controversy. Lily Potter, young Neville Longbottom's godmother, and her husband James Potter, a not too remote cousin of the Longbottoms', were awarded full custody of the boy today.

When asked her opinion on the development, Augusta Longbottom (the late Mr Longbottom's mother) said, 'I'm not surprised. Lily and Frank have had been thick as thieves since the day they were Sorted, and he always got on well with James and Sirius.' With a smile, Mrs Longbottom's mother-in-law added, 'A spirited boy like Neville is going to need more than a lot of antediluvians like us. I couldn't hope for better guardians than Lily and James.'

Perhaps a further reason for their complaisance can be found in the Potters' stated intention to raise Neville with their own son, Harry, at an undisclosed family property. It is rumoured that they are bringing the surviving Longbottoms with them.

_**14 November 1981 THE DAILY PROPHET Price: 5 Knuts**_

**Black Sheep Returns to the Fold!**

Mr Arcturus Black, the ninety year old patriarch of a family widely considered to be one of Britain's wealthiest and most influential (and, it must be said, most eccentric), is renowned for his many philanthropic endeavours, which last year won him the award of Order of Merlin, First Class. Mr Black's announcement of this morning, however, won the attention of the wizarding world for quite a different reason.

Handsome and charismatic Sirius Black lost scarcely any admirers when he was disinherited at age sixteen. The elderly wizard appeared in public today, leaning heavily on the strong arm of his erstwhile grandson. 'We are fully reconciled,' Mr Black said. 'I consider Sirius the best example of what the Blacks are able to offer wizardkind.'

He further explained, 'When people talk of Sirius' supposed repudiation of our family and everything we stand for, they forget that he actually went to live with my favourite cousin. Her part in healing the breach cannot be overestimated.' Sirius said, 'It was really . . . adolescent rebellion on my part. Aunt Dorea helped me to see exactly what I was doing.' Mrs Dorea Potter (_née_ Dorea Black) was Sirius' great aunt, the wife of Ministry diplomat Charlus Potter, and well known and respected for her work in Arithmancy.

Sirius looked livid when the topic of Regulus Black (the younger brother who supplanted him as Black family heir) was brought up, for quite different reasons than might be supposed. 'My brother was murdered by Death Eaters,' the young man said, his voice rising passionately. 'It's not something we talk about, but everybody knows what happened. It was a stupid mistake. Regulus was a young idiot, we all were, and he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was just a mistake.'

When asked if he would ever consider again disinheriting his spirited grandson, Mr Black declared, 'No, not under any circumstances.' He later added, 'His Black cousins have all proven highly unsatisfactory. Sirius possesses in spades courage, loyalty, intelligence, and talent, all qualities prized in the Black family; now that he's settled down, I could not ask for anything more in an heir.'

The 'unsatisfactory' cousins in question are the married daughters of Cygnus and Druella Black: Bellatrix Lestrange, 30, Andromeda Tonks, 28, and Narcissa Malfoy, 26. All three lovely sisters (once inseparable, now estranged for reasons unknown) are highly respected and prominent figures in the wizarding world. Mrs Tonks has two daughters, Nymphadora, 8, and Danae, 3, while Mrs Malfoy is mother to a son, Draco, 1.

Mr Black declined to elaborate on his statement.

_**26 November 1981 THE DAILY PROPHET Price: 5 Knuts**_

**Black-Greengrass Alliance!**

Menelaus Greengrass, Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, today announced the engagement of his sister Chloe, 21, to Sirius Black, 23. According to both, they have been quietly dating for nearly a year.

'Sirius was meant to be the Potters' Secret Keeper up until the last moment,' explained Miss Greengrass. 'It had been planned since before he looked twice at me, and he fully expected to be tortured and killed immediately afterwards. He couldn't bear to make me a young widow or still worse, a target for Death Eaters and the Dark Lord.'

The jaunty young man whose flippant defiance gave hope to many older and more experienced wizards seems transformed by the trials he has endured. Sirius Black is grave, calm, and collected as he sits with his fiancée, but his dark eyes are haunted. Years as a marked man have indelibly scarred him.

Arcturus Black was unavailable for comments, but his wife Melania virtually bubbled over with excitement. 'We are delighted, of course,' she said with a bright smile. 'Chloe is a breath of fresh air for us.'

'I expect they will be very happy,' declared Black's uncle, Ignatius Prewett. 'Chloe is a good, steady girl, just what the Blacks need.'

With equal sincerity, Madam Greengrass said, 'There's no denying that it's highly convenient for all of us, but that's pure coincidence. Neither family had any idea until the matter was already settled. It was chance that brought them together.'

Apparently, 'chance' more commonly goes by the name of James Potter. 'My mother was Sirius' great-aunt and my grandmother was Chloe's,' Potter told us. 'So of course I knew them both. Since they were accounted "dangerous blood traitors" by the Death Eaters, Sirius and Chloe were ostracised by _respectable _folk who didn't have their courage. It was the same story with pretty much any young people trying to do the right thing. So I threw a sort of party.' Smiling at the memory, he explained, 'It was at the ancestral estate in Wiltshire, a very exclusive event -- blood traitors of the first order only! Chloe and Sirius met there, danced, talked a bit. It wasn't love at first sight.' Potter rejected all compliments. 'Sirius was preparing to die for me and my family,' he said. 'The least I could do was facilitate his social life.'

Black, asked about hopes for his future with Miss Greengrass, proved that his mischievous side is still alive and kicking. 'You know, every Black in the history of er, forever was in Slytherin, until now, but times are changing. I was in Gryffindor, Chloe in Ravenclaw. Personally, I'm hoping we raise a houseful of Hufflepuffs.'

The Black-Greengrass wedding is set for New Year's Eve.

The happy couple are pictured to the right, surrounded by their loving family. Top row, left to right: Edmund Tonks, Lucius Malfoy, Menelaus Greengrass, Cygnus Black, Ignatius Prewett, Priam Greengrass. Second row, left to right: Andromeda Tonks, Melania Black, Niobe Greengrass, Lucretia Prewett, Cassiopeia Black, Narcissa Malfoy. Third row, left to right: James Potter, Sirius Black, Chloe Greengrass, Lily Potter. Last row, left to right: Danae Tonks, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Daphne Greengrass, Neville Longbottom.

_**1 November 1982 THE DAILY PROPHET Price: 5 Knuts**_

**Black Secrets -- Tragedy Strikes Again!**

Yesterday, cousins-in-law Lily Potter and Chloe Black were, like the rest of the wizarding world, secure in the belief that the menace posed by You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters was over. It was exactly one year since the defeat of the Dark Lord by Neville Longbottom, Mrs Potter's godson, and all the world was celebrating.

All the world, that is, but for a family of four. All were respectable. All were well connected.

All were Death Eaters.

They were Mr Rodolphus Lestrange, his wife (_née_ Bellatrix Black), his brother, and Mrs Lestrange's young cousin, the son of none other than Magical Law Enforcement head Bartemius Crouch.

The last time Mrs Potter and Mrs Black were seen that day, they were talking to young Barty Crouch and laughing. They certainly were not laughing much longer. Their families contacted the Ministry approximately an hour and a half after the women's disappearance.

'Lily and Chloe told us they'd be home at three. They're very organised people, always very together,' said a distraught James Potter. 'When they were still gone by three-thirty, we knew something had to be wrong.'

The truth was beyond anyone's worst expectations. Mrs Black and Mrs Potter were discovered in Knockturn Alley at 4:38, mere moments after their assailants had fled. 'I've never seen anything like it,' said Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt. 'The victims were obviously surprised, but they fought like heroes. They probably cast fifteen curses between the two of them before the Cruciatus incapacitated them.'

However, upon their arrival at St Mungo's, Mrs Potter was instantly transferred to another ward. Eight and a half months pregnant, the trauma had induced a premature labour, and nine hours later, she gave birth to twin girls.

Witnesses on Knockturn Alley were surprisingly helpful and the Lestranges, as well as young Crouch, were immediately apprehended. Once found guilty by the Wizengamot, they will be sent to Azkaban for life.

Although Walburga Black, Chloe Black's mother-in-law (and Bellatrix Lestrange's aunt) insisted there must be a mistake, Mr Arcturus Black (the family patriarch) could not claim to be surprised. 'It's not that we thought she was a Death Eater, but she was never . . . normal. Brilliant, of course, but quite disturbing -- even as a child. At the time, it was a relief to marry her off to Roddy Lestrange.' After a pause, he added, 'At least there are no children, thank God.'

Just under a year ago, Mr Black told us that he considered Mrs Lestrange, along with her two younger sisters, an 'unsatisfactory' heir, but refused to further explain himself. One hopes that there will be no such dramatic relevations about Mrs Tonks and Mrs Malfoy (both of whom, unlike Mrs Lestrange, attended the Black Greengrass wedding of last December).

-----

**Cast of Characters****  
**

**Neville Longbottom**, son of Frank Longbottom and Alice Gamp, the Boy-Who-Lived. Ward of his godmother, Lily Potter, and his father's second cousin, James Potter.

**Harry Potter**, son of James Potter and Lily Evans. Raised alongside Neville.

**Arcturus Black**, patriarch of the Black family, retired from public life. Reinstated his grandson Sirius as his heir after the Dark Lord's fall.

**Melania (Macmillan) Black**, Arcturus' delicate wife, Sirius' grandmother, nominal mistress of the house.

**James Potter**, son of Charlus Potter and Dorea Black. A wealthy aristocrat and Ministry employee, authority of the family.

**Sirius Black**, son of Orion and Walburga Black, heir to the Black fortune and name, best friend of James Potter, godfather of Harry Potter.

**Violetta (Bulstrode) Black**, grandmother of Cygnus Black, Walburga Black, and James Potter.

**Cassiopeia Black**, daughter of Violetta Black. Best friends with Hogwarts year-mate and cousin Callidora.

**Callidora (Black) Longbottom**, Neville Longbottom's great-grandmother.

**Cygnus Black**, reclusive son of Pollux Black and Irma Crabbe. Widower of Druella Rosier, father of Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa.

**Francis Longbottom**, Callidora's son, Neville's grandfather.

**Augusta (Cornfoot) Longbottom**, Neville's grandmother.

**Enid (Longbottom) Algernon**, Callidora's daughter, Francis' sister, Neville's great-aunt.

**Aristodemus 'Algie' Algernon**, Enid's husband.

**Chloe and Helen Potter**, twin daughters of James Potter and Lily Evans, Harry's younger sisters.

**Susan Bones, Draco Malfoy, Daphne Greengrass, Morag MacDougal, Millicent Bulstrode, Hermione Granger, Katherine Rivers, Blaise Zabini**, etc, year-mates of Neville's.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place_

_20 July 1991_

Neville Longbottom crept upstairs, hesitating at the door that led to the roof. He took a deep breath, then reached out and twisted the knob.

'Master Neville! What is you _doing_?'

'Shh,' Neville hissed. She was, thankfully, a Potter elf; it _meant _that she might listen if he was fast and clever enough. 'It's an experiment, Emmy. Harry's idea,' he added, since the whole house knew that Harry's exploits were never so disastrous as Neville's.

'What sort of experiment?' she asked suspiciously.

'No wands,' Neville promised. 'It's just that I have to get some plants out of the greenhouse. _I_ grew them, after all.'

'Emmy knows Master Neville is growing his own weeds,' Emmy conceded.

'They're not weeds, Emmy, they're . . . oh, never mind. But there's one that has to be picked under the full moon, and it's taken me forever -- I had to find the seeds and take care of it and everything, all by myself, just so I could pick it tonight.' He looked at her pleadingly. 'I won't do anything stupid, I promise. Besides, the greenhouse is under the Charm. You know that.'

'What weed is you needing?'

'Fluxweed. It's a mint --'

'Emmy knows that one.' Her ears twitched. 'You has five minutes, then I is telling the Mistress.'

Neville chewed his lip. 'Which mistress?'

'_The_ Mistress,' she said, then blinked her enormous brown eyes. 'You is wasting time, Master Neville.'

He flung the door open and raced upstairs to the greenhouse. _His_ greenhouse. It was dirty and overgrown and falling apart when he found it, and he and Harry had cleaned and pruned and planted and done everything, practically all by themselves. But Neville did a lot more, because Harry was only really interested in things that were very hard or very easy and he thought plants were boring, except when he wanted to use one.

Like now. Desperately, Neville turned around, trying to remember which window he'd planted the fluxweed by.

'Neville! What are you doing at this hour?'

He jumped despite himself. Neville knew the portrait was there; he'd rescued it from a pile of rubble and dead weeds himself, and been rewarded when it turned out to be some Herbologist aunt from the seventeen hundreds. But she usually slept like the dead.

'Hi, Aunt Persephone. I'm looking for the fluxweed,' he said, peering in each window.

'It's the third over,' Persephone told him helpfully. 'Fluxweed on the full moon -- what are you two cooking up now?'

'Er . . . nothing much.' Two minutes left. He took out out his shears and carefully snipped at the base of the plant, the moonlight shining brightly through the window.

'Good luck,' said the portrait.

'Thanks!' Neville wrapped the cuttings up and rushed away, down the winding steps and through the door. When Emmy squinted at him, he extended his hands triumphantly.

'Oh, go on, Master Neville,' she said. 'And don't you and Master Harry be doing anything you shouldn't.'

Neville grinned. 'Never, Emmy,' he said, and slipped downstairs. They had learnt to be very, very quiet a long time ago, because the only time the portraits didn't watch them was at night, when they slept, but the slightest noise would wake at least one of them up. And for every Persephone there was someone like Lysandra, who dutifully reported everything she saw, or Phineas Nigellus' brother Sirius, who was only seven and an awful tattletale. And that wasn't even _mentioning_ Weird Walburga. Neville shuddered at the thought.

He nearly fainted in relief when he made it to the basement safely. Harry was already there, with his wild hair and square glasses looking like a mad alchemist as he bent over the two bubbling cauldrons.

'Hi, Harry,' said Neville, hurrying over.

'Oh, there you are,' Harry said, looking relieved. 'Did everything go fine?'

'Yeah. Aunt Persephone was awake, but she helped me, and everybody else was sleeping. Well, except Emmy.' He scowled. 'She almost kept me from getting to the greenhouse, and she threatened to tell Aunt Melania if I was gone more than five minutes.'

'Aunt Melania? That's _low_,' Harry said admiringly. 'But you've got it?'

'Yeah.' Neville swallowed. 'We won't get in trouble, will we?'

'Nah,' said Harry. 'It's not dangerous or anything.' He gazed at the bubbling potions with satisfaction. 'Ready?'

Neville began chopping up the fluxweed. Harry stirred the potions every few minutes, and pored over the Blacks' tattered copy of _Most Potente Potions_ the rest of the time.

'Here you go, Harry,' said Neville, and crossed his fingers, backing away from the potions. Harry had amazing reflexes and could dash under the table at a moment's notice, but Neville, well, he was slower. _Lots_ slower.

'_Yes!'_ Harry cried as he flicked a bit of fluxweed into the second cauldron. Neville cautiously approached. The potions looked exactly like the book said they should. An ugly sticky mass that would probably take forever to scrub out.

'Where's your hair?' Neville asked.

'Right there,' said Harry. 'And yours?'

'Er . . . _ow!_' Neville rubbed his head. 'You could've _waited_.'

'No point,' Harry said blithely. 'Well, this is it.'

Neville nodded, staring at the still identical potions. Potions and Herbology were the only magic they were really supposed to do. Since Neville was good with plants and Harry was good at, well, what he called 'interesting stuff' (which translated out of Harry speak, meant anything that might blow up if he made a mistake), it generally worked out. Neville managed the ingredients and Harry put them together and their little lab, a present from Harry's great grandmother Violetta on their eighth birthdays, was still intact. Once or twice, Callidora and Cassie had even made them bottle some of their best work up and show it to Arcturus, and terrifying as it was, there was no thrill quite like hearing the cantankerous old man say, 'Well done.'

Of course, they wouldn't be showing _anybody_ this. They knew from Harry's cousin Dora, who had just finished her seventh year and was going to be an Auror, that _Most Potente Potions_ was in the Restricted Section at Hogwarts, and that was usually a pretty good sign that James would get upset about it, and maybe Melania or Callidora, and _definitely_ Mrs Longbottom if she found out.

Harry dropped one hair to each potion. They began bubbling and frothing madly, Neville's turning dull yellowish brown and Harry's an eye smarting lime green.

'Brilliant,' Harry breathed.

'I s'pose we should test it,' said Neville. 'You know, just to be sure, and all that.'

They grinned at each other. 'Oh, definitely. Wouldn't want to turn into a cat or something.' Harry carefully ladled a bit of each into the phials they'd prepared. After giving them time to cool, Neville picked up the one labelled _PJ--H_, and downed it.

'_Eww.'_ The sludge went down his unwilling throat, Neville coughing and gasping as horrible convulsions overwhelmed him. He could see Harry's skin bubbling and stretching before his eyes -- and then it was over.

They gaped at each other. Harry was a few inches shorter, with a head of thick mousy hair, round cheeks, and bright blue eyes. On his forehead was a small, jagged white scar. It was the same image Neville saw in the mirror every morning.

'This is awesome,' he said, but the voice that came out was softer and lower than his own. The other-Neville -- Harry -- laughed, and it came out in Neville's nervous giggle.

'Incredible,' he said. 'Okay, we'll want a couple of these. Three phials a piece, you think?'

'Er . . . Harry,' said Neville, 'what are we doing this for? I mean, besides to prove that we can.'

'_Hogwarts_, Neville,' said Harry, pouring the Neville potion into phials. 'What if we're in different houses? We can pretend to be each other, and . . . well, I'm sure we'll figure something to do. We'll keep our phials around, just in case.'

'Oh,' said Neville. He really couldn't imagine it being at all useful to turn into Harry, but then, cunning plots had never really been his strong point. 'But . . . Harry, I might not go.'

'_What?'_ Harry squeaked. 'Think Dad'll send you to Durmstrang?'

Neville chuckled at the thought, but sobered quickly. 'No, I mean . . . I'm not like you, Harry. I've never turned Cousin Walburga's hair blue, or appeared in some room nobody had heard of, or . . . or anything.'

'You're brilliant with Herbology, though. And on purpose, too, which is still better. Any half-witted wizard can go around with that sort of stuff.'

'Yeah, well, maybe I'm not a wizard.' There. It was out.

Harry stared at him with Neville's eyes. 'You've got to be kidding.'

Neville went on doggedly, 'I mean, remember when Uncle Sirius let us try out a few spells on his wand? Nothing ever worked right for me. My _Lumos_ turned every light in the room off. My _Scourgify_ melted your cauldron.'

'Well, obviously the wand wasn't suited to you.'

'I tried my dad's wand, too,' Neville said, suddenly miserable. 'Nothing worked right.'

'You'll get your own wand,' Harry told him, putting a stopper in the last phial. 'You'll be fine then.'

'I don't think so. What if I'm a Muggle, Harry?'

Harry put the last phial in the potions rack. 'Neville, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. First, you're a pureblood. You _can't_ be a Muggle. The only thing you can be is a Sq-- '

'Shh,' Neville cried. 'You know we're not allowed to say that word. Think what Gran would say!'

'Yeah, well, she's not _my_ gran,' said Harry. 'Dad never said I couldn't say it.'

'I bet Uncle Arcturus would go spare if he heard you, though. And he _is_ your uncle, or whatever it is.'

'First cousin twice removed.' Harry frowned. 'That's not the point. The thing is, you wouldn't be a Muggle -- you can't be. You'd be a S-word. But you're not. I mean, if you give a . . . a nonmagical person a wand, it doesn't do crazy things like with you. It doesn't do _anything at all_, because they're not magical, see? Or if a Muggle tried to work with magical plants -- or make potions -- he wouldn't be able to. A potion isn't just a stew made out of weird stuff and put in a cauldron, Neville. It's _magic_. It's the same with Herbology. Speaking of going spare, what do you think Aunt Persephone would say if you called her a gardener? She's _not_. And that's not what you're doing. I mean, you grew a _Devil's Snare_.'

Neville sighed. 'You're right, I guess.'

'You notice I didn't mention the Boy-Who-Lived thing,' Harry added, smiling slyly. Neville snorted.

'Thanks, Harry.' He stared at the carpet. 'It's just . . . I know that Uncle Algie and Aunt Enid . . . and Gran . . . are wondering. 'Cause I've never done anything accidental. I even heard them talking about it once.'

'You're too happy, that's the thing.' Harry set the extra Polyjuice aside and began cleaning up. 'I mean, I've only done it when I was really scared or angry or something.'

'You lit my Devil's Snare on fire,' Neville reminded him.

Harry grinned. 'That'd go in the "really scared" category.'

-----

'_Dad!'_

'Uncle James, guess what? Guess what I did?' Neville was practically jumping up and down, his face wreathed in smiles. 'You'll never guess what I did.'

'Daddy, Daddy!' the twins chorused, trailing Harry and Neville. 'Guess what Neville did? He went down the stairs!'

'Shh,' Harry hissed at his sisters. 'It's Neville's story.'

Helen stuck her tongue out but obeyed. Chloe shovelled food in her mouth to keep from talking.

After the requisite pause, Neville pronounced, 'I fell down the staircase.'

The adults stared at him. 'He bounced,' Harry added hurriedly. '_Really_ bounced. It was magic, I saw it.'

'Me too!' said Helen. 'I saw, and so did Chloe!'

Chloe, desperate not to be left out, tried to swallow so fast she nearly choked. 'Yeah, I saw him too,' she said. 'He was just like a Bludger.'

Enid burst into tears, but nearly everybody else got up and surrounded Neville to offer congratulations.

'Good for you, m'boy,' said Violetta, pounding him on the back. Neville gasped for breath. Her one hundred and nine years hadn't noticably weakened her. 'Knew you had it in you.' She smiled. 'Tried any interesting potions lately?'

Harry and Neville turned scarlet, which fortunately went unnoticed by practically everybody.

'This is a rite o' passage in a young man's life, this is,' Algie declared. 'We've got to celebrate!'

'We'll get you a proper wand,' Sirius told him, winking. 'You'll be all right then.'

'After you get your letter, and not a day before,' Arcturus pronounced. 'Any half-witted wizard . . .'

'Neville's not half-witted, Uncle Arcturus,' Chloe cried. 'Neville's smart, you'll never guess what we saw him do --'

Helen jabbed her in the ribs. Arcturus' brows shot up.

'Emmy!' James said, and the house elf materialised. 'We're going to need pumpkin juice, I think . . . and cake . . .'

'And trifle!' Harry shouted. 'That's Neville's favourite!'

'And trifle, for our young wizard here,' James finished, smiling at Neville, who beamed. Melania sniffled.

'They've all grown up so fast,' she said, her voice wavering. 'And now Harry and Neville are going to Hogwarts!'

'Thank the good Lord,' Arcturus muttered. Her eyes widened.

'_Arcturus!'_

Neville grinned to see the dignified Black patriarch looking somewhat sheepish at his gentle wife's disapproval. 'Don't you think they _want_ to go?'

'A pet,' said Algie. 'That's just what the boy needs. A . . . a _toad_, that's what.'

James and Sirius looked horrified.

'No, no,' Callidora said. 'Toads are _quite_ unpopular these days -- though when I was girl . . .'

'Better an owl,' Cassie finished firmly. 'Fashionable, and _always_ useful.'

'We'll have to go to Diagon Alley,' James mused.

Violetta nodded sharply. 'Never wise to order a pet without seeing it first.'

'Quite so,' Callidora agreed. 'Why, you remember when I got _my_ first pet . . . '

'Oh, that vicious snake of yours?' Cassie shook her head. 'That thing terrorised half of Slytherin House.'

'Couldn't happen to nicer people,' said Sirius. Violetta boxed his ears.

'A snake, really?' Harry's eyes widened. 'You can have snakes at Hogwarts?'

Cassie and Callidora laughed. 'You can when your grandfather's Headmaster,' said Cassie.

'Dad, I want a snake. D'you think Professor Dumbledore would let me? He likes me, don't you think? Could Grandfather Phineas convince him?'

'Hmmph,' said Phineas, appearing in his portrait. 'Trying to break the rules already, are you?'

'It's not breaking the rules when you have permission,' said Harry. 'A snake would be _so__cool_. I could talk to him, and --'

'You're too old to be telling tales, Harry,' James said sharply.

'I'm not!'

'_Harry.'_

He subsided, scowling. 'I'm not lying,' he muttered.

'We can't _all_ go,' Sirius was saying.

Arcturus sniffed. 'I have no inclination. A man of my years . . .'

'Stuff it, boy,' Violetta said. 'I'll be going, of course. There's a nice pub on Knockturn Alley '

'I'm not sure . . . ' Callidora murmured shyly. 'So many people . . .'

'Oh, you'll love it,' Cassie assured her. 'It'll do you good to get out again.'

'Do you think the wards would be affected by too many of us leaving at once?' Mrs Longbottom asked.

'I think at least one Longbottom should stay,' James told her. 'You, Callidora, Francis, or Enid.'

'I could . . .' Callidora began.

'No, you couldn't,' Cassie said. 'Augusta, I hate to suggest it . . .'

They looked at Neville. 'Oh!' he said uncomfortably, 'er . . . whatever you think best. I mean, I don't really mind . . . whoever wants to come can. But Gran, if you don't feel up to it . . .'

'Not as young as I once was,' she conceded.

'_Really_,' muttered Violetta. 'Not a day over eighty and --'

'All right then,' James said, his voice rising above the hubbub. 'Sirius and I, Harry and Neville, Enid and Algie, Cassie and Callidora are coming to Diagon Alley -- Arcturus and Mrs Longbottom will be at Grimmauld Place --'

'I'll stay with Augusta,' Francis announced, with a glance at his wife's pinched face.

'Then Mr Longbottom and Uncle Cygnus will stay here as well; Grandmother Vi is coming . . .'

Every head swivelled to stare at Melania. She blinked. 'I think . . . I should like . . .' She glanced timidly at her husband. 'Arcturus, do you think I should go?'

'Whatever you want,' he told her gruffly, but cracked a smile. 'Your people will be there, they've got someone going this year, that boy of Clarence's . . . Leonard?'

'Ernest,' she said. 'Oh, I _would_ like to see everyone again, and all our old haunts.'

'I want to go too!' Helen burst out. 'Uncle Sirius, can't I?'

'And me!' Chloe added, not to be outdone. 'We've hardly ever left the house. We're not babies any more, we're almost _nine_ --'

'Shall we bring the house elves along too, Dad?' Harry asked brightly. 'They can carry a sign. "Cower before the might of the Black army or perish!" '

Neville snickered. 'I don't think that's the impression we want to give, Harry.'

'Oh, right; I forgot you conquered the Dark Lord. It should be more like, "Noble hero of wizardkind and family." We'll have to invite Aunt Andromeda and Dora along for the proper effect, though.'

'And the other one, Dora's sister with the normal name.'

'Danae,' said Harry. 'At least, I _think_ it's Danae.'

Mrs Longbottom said firmly, 'That's quite enough out of you two.'

'And no, you may certainly not go,' James told his daughters. 'You'll have your time when you're ready to go to Hogwarts.'

'But Dad, that's not for _three years_,' Helen complained.

'Yeah. We're only a little younger than Harry and Neville --'

'Two years, three months, and a day,' Neville and Harry chorused.

'_It's not fair,'_ said Chloe, sticking her lip out.

'How you can live here and think life is fair, _I_ have no idea,' Violetta snapped. 'Be quiet, and do as you're told -- and remember who you are.'

One black head and one red bent together as they attemped to puzzle this out.

'So _who's_ coming?' Cassie looked at her cousin. Callidora chewed her lip before responding.

'Aunt Violetta, Melania, you and me, Sirius, James, Enid, Algie, Harry and Neville. Isn't that right?'

'Yes, Aunt Callidora,' James said, and added with a sharp look at his daughters, 'And _no more discussion_. Neville-- ' he scraped his chair out of the way 'you sit right there.' He conjured up a highly ornate wooden chair. 'It's time to celebrate.'

All the house elves' desserts appeared before them, and the children cheered.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_Number Twelve Grimmauld Place_

_31 July 1991_

On 'Diagon Alley Day,' which was also Harry's birthday, Neville was so excited that he almost couldn't button his robes properly. He raced downstairs, tailed by Chloe and an unusually downcast Helen.

'We'll have the house practically to ourselves,' Chloe was saying. Helen brightened.

'Yeah . . . that'll be cool. But Uncle Arcturus won't — '

'Uncle Arcturus won't what?' said the uncle in question, appearing in the doorway. Harry was at his side, and had clearly been subjected to Sleekeazy's again, since his nature defying hair was straight and neatly parted. For a moment, between the hair and nose and utter self assurance, he looked for all the world like Arcturus' great grandson or something; then he grinned at his sisters and Neville, and he was just Harry again.

'Oh . . . nothing,' said Helen cheerfully. 'Happy birthday, Harry!'

'Thanks!' He slid into his seat, and the rest quickly poured in, all wishing him well, even Cygnus who'd been dragged out of his favourite study. They were quite cheerfully eating breakfast when there was a rushing noise, and two owls swept in. The wards kept all mail away, so Harry and Neville were still staring in astonishment when each owl dropped an envelope next to their plates.

It said, in bright green letters, _Mr N. Longbottom, the Dining Room, 12 Grimmauld Place, London. _Neville turned it over, and gasped. 'Harry! Harry, it's our — '

There were three separate flashes of light. Neville scowled. James, Sirius, and Cassie, each holding a camera, smiled unrepentantly.

'You didn't think we'd let this moment pass without _pictures_, did you?' Sirius demanded. 'All right, you can open them now.'

Both Harry and Neville ripped the letters open, and by the time Neville finished reading the invitation to Hogwarts, he was ready to strangle his uncles and aunt. There were still spots dancing in front of his eyes.

'Hogwarts,' Harry breathed reverently.

'I _suppose_ we could send you to Durmstrang, if you're absolutely set on it,' James said.

'Eww,' said Neville, wrinkling his nose.

'I'm not,' Harry said, lifting his chin as he read through the letter once again.

They left not long afterwards, James, Sirius, Mr Longbottom, and Arcturus restoring whatever wards they'd changed to let the Hogwarts birds through. Harry gave his letter to his father, but Neville couldn't bring himself to let go of his own.

They went downstairs, past Walburga's portrait. She opened her mouth, but Arcturus simply _looked_ at her. Even Walburga didn't dare cross him when he looked like that.

Then they were at the fireplace. Neville almost thought he could feel the air whooshing out of his lungs. He'd been outside to play, of course — the wards extended along the whole property, not just the house — but even still, it was nothing like, like, like _this_. Harry had gone to the Ministry and Diagon Alley and St Mungo's and even Hogsmeade a few times — it was nothing much for him. But Neville — this was _Outside_, for the very first time in his life. His teeth chattered and he clutched his cousin's hand.

Callidora and Melania looked equally terrified. Cassie and Arcturus had to forcibly detach them from each other.

'Remember to speak clearly,' James warned them, and one after another, they went through the fire. Harry and Neville were last, except for Sirius.

Neville tossed the powder into the fireplace, gathered his courage, and walked in, crying, _'Diagon Alley!'_

-----

There were so many _people_. Neville had never seen so many in his life, witches and wizards everywhere, spilling out of stores, talking loudly in the street, hurrying this way and that. The blur of bright cloaks and robes was occasionally dotted by sombre dark trousers and coats, which inevitably belonged to some bewildered couple following a wizard or witch and their pale, wide-eyed children.

_Muggleborns,_ Neville surmised. He'd never seen any before and just kept himself from staring at them.

'All right,' James was saying. 'We'll split up, it'll be faster that way.'

'I'll get their equipment,' Violetta volunteered. 'Melania, you're coming with me. Anything changed anything since your day, James?'

He perused Harry's letter. 'No. Cauldron — oh, _only_ pewter now — phials — telescope — brass scales. Get him some basic potions ingredients too.'

'Right, then,' she said, and went off, pulling a dazed Melania behind her.

'Sirius and I have some things to get from Gringotts,' James went on. 'Neville, Harry, do you want to come with us?'

They looked at each other. 'Not really,' said Harry. 'There's enough money for everything, isn't there?'

Cassie snorted. 'Don't be ridiculous, boy. Enid, Algie, why don't you take Neville to the Menagerie for a pet? Go to Eeylops if he doesn't find anything he likes there. We'll go get Harry fitted at Madam Malkin's.'

'Very well,' said Enid. 'Neville, are you ready?'

He looked around his family with wide eyes. 'Er . . .' Harry patted him on the shoulder as he trailed after Cassie and Callidora.

'And _no toads!_' Sirius added in parting.

'Yes, I guess so,' Neville said. He wished he was like a Runespoor and had three heads, but made do with his own, standing on tiptoe as he looked around.

'— new Nimbus Two Thousand — fastest ever — '

'No point trying to get a broom, Neville,' said Enid, 'you can't bring one as a first year.'

'Let the boy be, Enid,' Algie told her. 'No harm in looking.'

'No, that's fine,' he said, sticking his hand behind his back. 'Uncle James' Comet Two Sixty is _more _thanfast enough, thanks.'

His aunt and uncle chuckled.

Before he quite knew what had happened, they were at Magical Menagerie, a store _covered _with cages and filled with the sounds of various animals — ravens croaking, snakes hissing, rabbits hopping, and cats miaowing, among others.

'You'll probably want an owl,' Enid said, 'but you might as well have a look around.'

'You might decide you'd like a toad after all.' Algie winked.

'All right,' Neville replied cheerfully. Cat, owl, toad, the letter said, but he knew there were plenty of exceptions. James said that the Weasley boys had passed down a rat, and when Sirius first went to Hogwarts, he got a Puffskein to irritate his family.

The ravens were annoying and he didn't like snakes, but he thought a cat might be just the thing. He sidled past a girl looking at some of them, then jumped as two kittens began attacking each other. The girl laughed.

'Don't think I'll get those ones, what about you?'

'Er — no,' said Neville awkwardly, for once grateful that his mousy hair had fallen in front of his face. 'I'd like something nice and calm, really.'

'Me too.' She grinned, tossing her long brown plait over her shoulder. 'Oh, sorry. I'm Susan.' She held out her hand.

'Neville,' said Neville, awkwardly, shaking it. He was half anticipating, half dreading, her reaction, whatever it might be.

Her eyes rounded. 'Neville? Neville _Longbottom_? Really?' Her eyes darted up to his forehead, then dropped to the floor. 'Oh, well, er . . . it's nice to meet you. I mean, _really_ nice . . . you're going to Hogwarts?'

'Yes,' said Neville, and added unnecessarily, 'it's my first year.'

'Mine too,' Susan said, smiling shyly. 'My aunt was really pleased when I got my letter, because my mum's a Muggle and I never did anything that was, you know, _for sure _magic — and Auntie's way up in the Ministry — so she said I could have whatever pet I wanted and she'd see that there weren't any problems about it.'

'Oh, that's nice of her,' said Neville. 'It's sort of the same with me — all my family's wizarding, but I never did anything, except growing some weird plants, until I bounced down the stairs about a week ago. Everybody was really pleased, so they're letting me get a pet.' He laughed. 'My cousin wants a snake but I think I'll just get a cat or an owl.'

'A snake? Eww,' she said, wrinkling her nose up. 'An owl would be _really _useful, but cats are really sw — cute.'

Neville laughed. 'That's true. That black one looks nice, don't you think?'

Away from the angry kittens was another, hungrily lapping up milk. It was black and very small, composed chiefly of enormous ears and large green eyes. It turned towards them and miaowed, piteously.

'Yeah,' said Neville. 'It looks like a runt, see how small it is?'

'I'll get it,' Susan decided, 'unless you want it?'

'Nah.' He grinned. 'She's yours. I'll go to Eeylops, I think.' He paused before leaving. 'See you at Hogwarts, Susan.'

She blushed. 'See you there.'

He returned to his aunt and uncle to find that they had been watching him interestedly. 'Do you have a lady friend, Neville?' Enid teased.

'I never met her before!' he cried. 'But she seemed nice. Her people were worried that she wasn't magic, too.'

'Don't be silly, Nev, nobody thought you weren't magic,' Algie said. Neville ignored him and walked into Eeylops Owl Emporium, a dimly lit store full of all kinds of owls. He rather liked it there, since there was no danger of anybody recognising him and the hoots and screeches of the owls were peculiarly soothing. Fifteen minutes later, Neville walked out with a snowy white owl under his arm, and a broad smile on his face.

'Thanks, Auntie Enid,' he chirped. The owl hooted at him.

'She'll need a name,' Algie told him.

Neville wished Harry was there, he always knew stories and things. Then he thought of the greenhouse, and the portrait he'd saved. She was an Herbologist, and it was really the only important all Neville thing he'd ever done. Neville said firmly, 'Her name is Persephone.'

-----

'Harry!'

Neville waved his arm at his cousin, who, along with a number of other people, was staring longingly at the Nimbus Two Thousand on display at Quality Quidditch Supplies. With a visible effort, he tore himself away, followed by a slim blond boy. Apparently Harry, too, had made a friend of sorts — no surprise there, Harry'd always had a way of getting along with people.

'Hi, Neville,' Harry replied. 'Oh, so you _did _get an owl. Look, Draco, isn't she pretty?'

The other boy — up close, an extremely pale, colourless creature with a pointed face and cold grey eyes — examined her. 'Yes, rather,' he said eventually. 'What have you called her?'

'Persephone,' said Neville.

Harry grinned. 'That's brilliant, _she'll_ be pleased,' he said, then clapped his hand over his mouth. 'Oh, I'm so sorry. Neville, this is my new friend, Draco Malfoy. Draco, my cousin, Neville Longbottom.'

'Nice to meet you, Longbottom,' drawled Malfoy. His voice was uncannily like Phineas'.

'And you, Malfoy,' Neville returned. Did Harry not know who the Malfoys _were_? Honestly, he'd never figured out how his cousin could be so knowledgable about some things and obtuse about others. 'Where are the aunts, Harry?'

'They're talking to Mrs Malfoy,' said Harry. 'Draco and I decided to come and get our wands.—Enid and Algie?'

'They met some old friend and I said I'd be fine. I wanted to see what Florean's was like.'

Harry laughed. 'Or what Florean's _tasted _like? They must have left you money, then.'

'Ten Galleons,' said Neville, blushing. 'Do you s'pose that will be enough?'

'Probably,' said Malfoy.

'I'll give you more if you need it,' Harry promised. 'Come on. Is Ollivander really as old as they say?'

The three boys hurried over to the shop. It was narrow, shabby, and in peeling gold letters announced itself _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC. _A rather battered wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the window. Though _this _was what Neville had really been looking forward to, even he had to admit that on first sight the place was rather unprepossessing.

They walked in, and somewhere, a bell faintly tinkled. The shop was very small, the only furniture one spindly, delicate chair. There were shelves up to the wall, all full of long narrow boxes, and the air practically tingled with magic. Neville wasn't sure whether to be impressed, afraid, or just excited. Malfoy was looking around with a bizarre mixture of curiosity and condescension, while Harry seemed more delighted than anything else. Clearly this was just what an ancient wand shop ought to be according to the Harry Potter idea of the world.

'Good afternoon,' said a soft voice. All three jumped. Before them was a very old man, even in wizarding terms. He had wide shining pale eyes.

'Er, hello,' said Harry. 'I'm — '

'Harry Potter, yes,' the creepy old man — Ollivander, Neville supposed — said. 'I thought I'd be seeing you soon.' He sighed. 'You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches, long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for Charms work.' He moved closer to an unnerved and slightly angry Harry, staring at him unblinkingly. 'Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. A little more power, and excellent for Transfiguration.'

Neville could just believe it. 'When in doubt, Transfigure' seemed to be James Potter's answer to _everything. _

'— really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course,' Ollivander was saying; with a barely audible swish of his robes, he turned to Malfoy. 'Draco Malfoy. A bit longer since your parents were in here . . . my, you _do _look like your father. Twelve inches, willow, bendy. Dragon heartstring from a Hungarian Horntail, tricky piece of work too. Quite powerful . . .' His voice trailed off, and he blinked for the first time, then coughed. 'Your mother's was more subtle, rowan, nine inches, with a unicorn hair. Very pliable, pleasant wand . . . and Mr Longbottom. I couldn't forget Alice Gamp. Unusually short wand, quite rigid — ebony — a phoenix tail feather, most volatile. You are very like her. Except . . .' He touched the scar on Neville's forehead. 'I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it. Yew. Fourteen inches. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands . . . well, if I'd known what that wand was going out in the world to do . . .' He shook his head.

Malfoy looked uncomfortable and said firmly, 'We'd like to get our wands, sir.'

'Well now . . . Mr Potter. Which is your wand arm?'

'Right,' said Harry. As he was measured, Ollivander burbled on about wands, flitting around as he took down boxes.

'Beechwood and dragon heartstring — maple and phoenix feather — ebony and unicorn hair — ' They tried, and tried, and tried. Neville suppressed a yawn. Malfoy didn't bother. The boxes piled higher and higher, until —

'Unusual combination,' Ollivander was saying cheerfully. 'Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.'

Harry took the wand, and swished it through the air. A stream of red and gold shot from the end, lighting up the dim shop. Neville clapped enthusiastically, Malfoy congratulated him, and Mr Ollivander cried,

'Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh very good. Well.' His pale silvery eyes were fixed on the wand with a rather bemused expression, as if he had discovered something unexpected.

Malfoy was next, but he demanded to try the first wand Ollivander had pulled out, a beechwood and dragon heartstring one. It immediately shot out gold and silver sparks.

'Excellent, excellent,' Ollivander said, 'nice and flexible — a very fine wand, if I do say so myself. Norwegian Ridgeback.'

'How'd you know?' Harry hissed, and Malfoy shrugged.

'I wanted it,' he said.

Neville suspected this was Malfoy's answer to most questions.

As for Neville himself, he was nearly as long as Harry. Finally, however, the old wizard happened across a warm, attractive wand. 'Cherry, ten inches, unicorn hair,' he pronounced. 'Swishy, quite versatile . . .'

When Neville tentatively took the wand, he didn't have to swish. The blue and copper sparks were accompanied by a crash of broken glass and falling boxes. Harry and Malfoy ducked.

'Oh dear,' said Neville. 'Does that mean I'm going to be a Ravenclaw?'

-----

The weeks between their outing in Diagon Alley passed quickly. Harry and Neville were almost bouncing off the walls, in some cases quite literally. Helen was peevish while Chloe insisted she didn't want to go to Hogwarts at all. James threatened to keep them from coming to King's Cross too if they didn't start behaving.

Sirius gave Harry his old school trunk with a knowing wink. Neville was sure there was some secret there, but didn't find out until the night before their departure, when he caught Harry sneaking a Comet Two Sixty into the bottom of his luggage.

'But that's against the rules!' Neville hissed.

'You sound like a good Gryffindor already,' Harry teased him.

'I'll _never _get Sorted there,' he replied gloomily, and didn't realise until later how neatly the subject had been turned. Sirius and Harry had obviously conspired — it _was_ just the sort of thing that Sirius would enjoy. And he'd been a Gryffindor too. Harry had to be wrong, Neville decided, since being a Gryffindor clearly had absolutely _nothing _to do with obeying rules.

Neville carefully packed all his belongings, plus the potions which he wrapped in socks and buried in his shoes. There were pictures, clothes, textbooks, various supplies—

And, of course, the Wand of Doom. It _was_, admittedly, much, much, better than any other wand he'd tried. His spells — at least those he'd tried — did tend to do, in a general way, what he wanted them to.

Of course, his Levitation Charm had sent Persephone's cage crashing into the ceiling. His _Lumos_ had Harry diving under the bed. The horrid thing, as far as Neville was concerned, had a life of its own, and he still had no idea why it had chosen him. It wasn't _fair_; Harry had already grown inordinately attached to his nice, obedient wand — Neville half suspected he slept with it under his pillow — while he found himself eyeing his own suspiciously, dreading what it would get up to next.

But other than that, those last few weeks were wonderful. He would have died before admitting to anyone that he'd cried and said goodbye to his plants. Pip had, however, sworn that 'we is looking after Master Neville's weeds,' so he was hoping for the best. Old Persephone had sworn that she'd scream at them if they did anything wrong.

'But no punishing yourself,' he told the elf sternly.

By the end, he was quite reluctant to leave. Walburga and Kreacher were the only people he could honestly say he _wouldn't_ miss. Helen and Chloe with their big inquisitive eyes and their little quarrels, Cassie bossing Callidora, Arcturus' gruff way of looking out for everybody, Algie and Enid and his gran, and most of all, James and Sirius.

He'd always called them 'uncle,' but they'd been as much his fathers as Harry's. Sirius with his jokes, his teasing, and the way he could suddenly be down-to-earth and sensible when Neville needed it. He could always talk to Sirius about the things that nobody else would understand, about how Harry made people like him without even trying ('it's called charisma, Nev'), or how afraid he was about ending up in Hufflepuff ('don't take this the wrong way, but you're not a team player'), or even that he was _afraid_ of going to Hogwarts ('don't let the bravado fool you — everyone is, their first year, and sometimes later too'). And there was James, who was . . . well, he was _James. _It was impossible to imagine James as a young mischief maker, as both men insisted; Sirius, definitely, but James? James, grave, determined, powerful, with that touch of severity — no. James was the one that looked after him when he was sick, the one who gave Walburga what-for, the one who was always being quoted in the _Prophet_ — he was . . . _good. _Neville trusted nobody, not even Harry, as much as he did James. Sometimes he was terrified of him, but only when he knew he'd done something he shouldn't; and when he'd done something _right_, he always ran to James, even before his gran. As long as Neville could remember, what he wanted more than anything was to make James proud of him.

_If I'm in Gryffindor—_

Neville pushed that thought away. _Harry_ would be, naturally — Harry was practically fearless — but him? There were other things. There'd be Herbology. As long as he obeyed the rules and did well —

But there wouldn't be anybody looking out for him. He'd always been _surrounded_ by people — and admittedly he was looking forward to being a bit less smothered — but he'd always known that no matter what he did, somebody would take care of it and him. Hogwarts wasn't like Grimmauld Place. _Nowhere _was like Grimmauld Place. There wouldn't even be the family portraits there . . .

Neville rubbed his nose against his sleeve, and got up. He wasn't going to cry. He'd cried once and only babies cried more than that.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_King's Cross, London_

_1 September 1991_

The Blacks simply walked to King's Cross, which was only about twenty minutes from Grimmauld Place. Their feeble attempts to look inconspicuous had clearly failed — despite the absence of robes or hats, they drew the eye of everyone they passed. The Muggles gawked at Persephone, at the men's waistcoats and the women's gowns — at pretty much everything, really. Most of the Blacks put on an air of superiority and ignored them; Sirius seemed amused, and James blissfully oblivious. Harry and Neville tried not to stare.

Neville thought of living without magic and shuddered. At least these ones didn't know what they were missing.

They got to King's Cross without incident, and James and Sirius, who were pushing their things in practically unenchanted carts, stopped and grinned. 'You know what to do,' said Sirius.

Neville looked at the apparently solid barrier, gulped, and nodded.

'You'll want to take it at a bit of a run,' James advised.

'Okay,' Harry said, his face pasty white as he wrapped his fingers around the handle. Then, as soon as a group of people went past, he took the cart and rushed forward. Neville stood on tiptoe to watch, but a large group of Muggles swarmed past, and when they were finally gone, so was Harry.

A plump woman surrounded by red-haired boys was saying, '— _packed _with Muggles, of course —'

Sirius grinned. James merely looked cross, but said kindly enough, 'Go on, Neville. It'll be fine, you'll see.'

But what if he wasn't magic enough to get through? Neville gathered what courage he possessed and pushed the trolley forward, faster as people jostled him, eyes wide as the barrier came nearer and nearer — he began running — the cart was just _going_, he could only hang on — he squeezed his eyes shut, praying for anything but humiliation —

And kept on running. Neville opened his eyes up. There was a scarlet steam engine waiting next to a platform, and behind him, a sign read _Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. _He was here.

There were people everywhere — very obviously _wizarding _people, with cats everywhere and hooting owls, and most people in — in _Hogwarts robes! _He was going to _Hogwarts! _Until that moment, it had always been something in the future, something not quite real. And now — there were a few of the first carriages already packed with students. A boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a crowd, crying, 'Give us a look, Lee, go on.' The boy lifted the lid of the enormous box in his arms, and a long, hairy spider's leg poked out. Everyone yelled and Neville was only a hair away from doing so himself, when he heard—

'Neville!'

It was Harry, looking ruffled and excited. He hadn't been running so fast so he was still near the barrier, their family around him. Neville pushed his trolley towards them.

'Well,' said Cassie, looking uncharacteristically tearful, 'this is it.'

'Don't you dare cry in public,' Arcturus warned her. His own wife was openly sniffling. Neville gave her a hug.

Enid and Algie and Cygnus and Neville's grandfather were at home, ostensibly keeping the wards up, but his gran wrapped her arms around him, squeezing the air right out of him.

'Eep,' said Neville. 'I'll be fine, Gran, really . . .'

'Promise you'll write.'

'I will, I swear.'

Callidora kissed the top of his head. 'Be a good boy, Neville.'

'Yes, ma'am.'

Sirius was ruffling Harry's hair, his grey eyes anxious. 'Take care of yourself, Harry, and look out for Neville. And both of you, don't forget to cause a bit of mayhem here and there.'

'_Sirius!' _about nine voices chorused. He laughed.

'Remember who you are,' said Arcturus, pinning Harry with a fierce look.

'Yes, uncle,' said Harry, with what passed for meekness in him.

'And you, Neville, don't allow anyone to push you around.'

Neville nodded.

Violetta said laconically, 'Good luck, boys,' then added, 'you'll need it.'

'I know you'll do well,' James said quietly. Neville instantly flushed up. 'Learn what you can, but don't get too worried, make some new friends. It'll be fine.' Then he winked. 'And don't let Harry walk all over you.'

'Thanks, Uncle James,' he said, rubbing his eyes furiously. 'I will, I'll try my hardest.'

'Do your best, that's all,' James replied, embracing him tightly. 'All right, you two, you'd better head off.'

Harry hugged his sisters. 'Bye, Helen, bye, Chloe.'

'Send us something interesting!' Helen cried.

'Bye, Harry,' said Chloe soberly.

'Bye, Dad, Uncle Sirius . . . Uncle Arcturus . . . Aunt Melania . . .'

'— goodbye, Gran — I won't dishonour the family name, I promise — bye, Grandma,— yes, I'll take very good care of Persephone — bye, Uncle Sirius, Uncle James — '

And then it was time to go. Even Harry was wiping his eyes as they waved goodbye the last time, just before the Blacks went back to King's Cross.

'All right,' said Harry, straightening up, 'we'd better get going, Neville.' They pressed through the crowd, but practically every compartment was full. They stopped at one towards the back of the train, occupied only by a small, dark-haired girl.

'Hi,' called Harry. 'Do you mind if we sit with you?'

'No,' she replied indifferently. They put Persephone inside, then began trying to shove and heave his trunk towards the train door. He and Neville just managed to lift it up the stairs, then dropped it on their feet.

'_Oww!' _Neville exclaimed. 'Isn't there a better way?'

'_Wingardium Leviosa,' _said a voice from behind them. Harry and Neville both started. Behind them was a tall boy, perhaps a fourth year, with neat brown hair and pleasant grey eyes. He carefully levitated Harry's trunk into the compartment, then Neville's.

'Thanks,' Harry said gratefully. 'I never thought of a levitation charm. Stupid of me, really.' He held out his hand. 'Harry Potter.'

The boy shook it and replied, 'You're welcome — I'm Cedric Diggory.'

'I'm Neville,' Neville blurted.

Cedric's brows rose, but he only replied in a quiet voice, 'A pleasure to meet you both' and left.

'That was nice of him,' Neville said, sitting down on the empty seat. 'I don't think we could have done it.'

'He's probably just a nice person.' Harry turned to look at the girl, who had lifted her head to examine both of them. She was clearly another first year, her uniform unrelieved by any hint of House colours.

'You're Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter?' she asked.

'Yes,' said Harry firmly. 'I'm Harry. He's Neville.'

'You're not so alike that I'd mix you up.' Neville blushed. He knew he couldn't be less like his slim, dark cousin if he tried.

'We don't know who you are, though,' Harry hinted.

'Daphne Greengrass.'

'You're related to the Mr Greengrass in the Ministry?'

'Yes.' Daphne looked pleased. 'Dad's the head of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.'

'Cool,' said Harry. 'My father talks about him a bit.'

'I think they're working together on something,' she said. 'I'm not really sure what. Dad doesn't talk about what's going on at work much.'

'I don't either,' Harry admitted. 'But knowing Dad . . .'

Daphne laughed. 'Right.'

Neville had no idea what they were talking about, and was rather glad when two more girls showed up at the compartment — especially since one of them was Susan!

'Everywhere else is full,' her companion, a girl with large teeth and bushy brown hair, said. 'Can we sit with you?'

'Unless it's too much trouble,' Susan added.

Harry and Daphne muttered agreement, while Neville said enthusiastically, 'No, of course it's not. Harry, scoot over. Oh . . . the trunks.'

All five looked at them in some dismay. They were smaller than Harry and Neville's, but not by much.

'Longbottom, why don't you cast that spell Diggory used?' Daphne suggested.

Neville eyed his wand. 'Er . . .'

'I'll do it,' said Harry. _'Wingardium Leviosa!'_

It was the first spell they'd learnt, and Harry had spent most of his time since Diagon Alley levitating everything that wasn't bolted down. The trunk's movement was shakier than when Cedric had done it, but he managed well enough, though he was panting by the time he finished.

'Phew!' He pushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes.

'Thanks,' said Bushy Hair, plopping down. 'I tried that at home, and it seemed pretty versatile . . . but then we got these letters . . .'

'Restriction of Underage Sorcery?' Susan asked sympathetically. 'Yes, my auntie told me that I'd get those if I tried anything more than particularly coloured sparks.'

'Susan's aunt is in the Ministry too,' Neville told Harry proudly. Susan blushed.

'I'm Susan Bones, by the way,' she said.

'Daphne Greengrass,' said Daphne.

'Harry Potter.'

'Neville Longbottom.'

'Oh!' Bushy Hair cried. 'Are you really? I know all about you, of course — I got a few extra books, for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.'

'I know,' said Neville in a gloomy tone. 'At least, I didn't know about the second one, but I'm not surprised.'

'Anything about the _fall _of the Dark Arts isn't likely to be in the library at . . .' Harry's mouth worked. 'At home,' he finished weakly.

'Kind of stupid, really,' Neville went on, warming to his subject. 'It's not like I can remember anything but some green light. It doesn't make me special or anything, I'm rubbish at magic.' He shook his wand with a scowl.

There was a silence. Then Bushy Hair said, 'You have a library? Really?'

'Yeah,' said Harry, 'all the old families do, really . . . what's your name, anyway? I can't just call you "Girl." '

_Or Bushy Hair, _thought Neville.

'Oh! I'm Hermione Granger,' she said, and before anybody could respond, she went on hurriedly, 'nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course; I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard — I've learnt all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough — '

'It won't,' said Daphne. 'Magic isn't just about rattling spells off, you know.'

'Well, yes, but there's so much _more_ than that in books!' Bush— Hermione exclaimed.

'Yes, but you can't go about thinking all the answers are in books. Magic isn't about _logic_,' Daphne argued.

'It is, kind of — it makes sense, in its way,' Harry corrected, 'just not . . . in the _same _way as other things. But you can't always trust books — people lie, writers too.'

Hermione looked rather put out. 'Well, I have to trust _somebody_, or I'd never learn anything at all,' she said.

'Just don't think everything you read _has_ to be absolutely true.' At the girl's stubborn look, Daphne shrugged. 'But you'll do whatever you like, of course.'

'So, er, how did you hear about Hogwarts, if your family isn't magic?' Neville interjected.

'Well, when the letter showed up — before the Muggle Liaison people came — we figured out that about half the people in this village where I live were probably magical, because we'd seen them getting owls before, though they tried not to be conspicuous or anything. We thought there must be some sort of bird society or something, but it turned out they were all just witches and wizards, and only one of them had been to Hogwarts but they all agreed it was the best school of magic in Europe.' She paused for breath, then went on, 'Do any of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best — '

'Don't be stupid,' said Harry bluntly. Susan and Neville stared at him.

'Harry,' Neville hissed, 'what's wr — '

'Potter's right,' Daphne pronounced. 'Gryffindor's got a good reputation, but it's only best if you think courage is more important than the other things, learning and loyalty and determination.'

'Dumbledore was in there, though, wasn't he?' Hermione asked, her brows furrowing.

'Yes,' said Susan quietly, 'it's where he met Grindelwald.'

The name was only vaguely familiar to Neville, but Hermione clearly had not been exaggerating about the volume of her reading; her eyes turned enormous. 'Really? But how could _he _be there? He wasn't — '

'Oh, he was courageous enough, personally,' Daphne said. 'Being brave doesn't mean . . . well . . . that you're not evil too.'

Harry laughed, but there was a sharp, bitter edge to it that seemed very un-Harry-like. 'Right,' he said, 'Neville and I know all about _that_.'

'We do?' Neville stared at him.

'_Peter Pettigrew_, Neville.'With a twist of his lips, he added, 'And Barty Crouch.'

'Oh!' Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth. 'I'm so sorry. Nobody said what _house_ they'd been in!'

'It's all right,' Neville told her.

'Well,' Daphne said brightly, 'I want Ravenclaw. Slytherins and Gryffindors never know when to run away and I don't think I want to be, you know, just another Hufflepuff. I'd like to be a scholar.'

'I thought you didn't like books,' muttered Hermione.

'Oh, I _love _them; I just know that I have to think about what I read too.' Daphne tossed her head. 'What about you, Susan?'

'I'd like Hufflepuff,' she said shyly, 'like Auntie Amelia. I don't really like being singled out, but you can do just as great things in groups. People say they're duffers but they're _not_!'

Daphne nodded. 'That makes sense — that you'd want Hufflepuff, I mean. And if your family's been there, you've got a chance.'

'Though not for sure,' warned Neville. 'Harry's godfather is the _only _person in his family who wasn't in Slytherin, so it can happen.'

'Not often, though,' Harry added, with a cheerful smile. 'I hope you get there, Susan.'

'Thanks.' She bit her lip. 'What about the rest of you?'

'Courage is important,' fretted Hermione. 'I've always really admired brave people. But _I _like reading and knowing things best. And it's the only way I'll get anywhere — it's not like I'm really bold or loyal . . . and it's more _useful_ than anything else . . . but maybe I _ought_ to think . . .'

'Ravenclaw or Gryffindor,' said Daphne easily. 'Whatever the test is, that'll sort it out for you. But don't let people tell you what to think. Or else you'll end up in — ' She snapped her mouth shut with a sideways glance at Susan.

'You were sounding pretty Slytherin there for a bit, too,' Harry added, grinning. 'If you weren't Muggleborn, I bet you'd have a good chance.'

Hermione blinked. 'Why does _that _matter? I mean — that was ages ago that people were fighting about that, wasn't it?'

'Ten years,' said Neville. What books had she been reading? Surely she knew —

'But that doesn't make any sense! I mean, this is 1991, it's not the sort of thing that happens anymore. It couldn't be, because I read that — '

'Look, Granger,' Daphne said suddenly, 'we're not _like _Muggles, all right? And there are lots of people who hate them or are afraid them.'

'There's a lot more of them than us,' Harry interjected.

'Yes. And some of those people don't think a Muggleborn's any different. There'll be people who hate _you_ too.'

'But — but I didn't _do _anything. I mean, I can't help being magical, any more than Mum and Dad can help being Muggles! How can people hate me without even knowing what I'm like?'

'That's not all.' They all turned to look at Susan, who gathered her nerve and went on, 'See, basically you've got people who have got two parents from wizarding families — purebloods — or one from a Muggle family and one that's wizarding — halfbloods — and then both from Muggle families — Muggleborns. My mum is a Muggle, Dad's a wizard, so I'm a halfblood.'

'And . . .' She looked at the others.

'Neville and I are both pureblood,' Daphne said. 'It's not that simple, though. I mean, Harry's a halfblood, but he's also a Potter, and wizardborn. He could go around snubbing insignificant purebloods — but it would look really pretentious if he did it to people from good families, like me or Malfoy, or even Bulstrode.'

Hermione scowled. 'But because I'm not from any wizarding family at all, I'm nobody? That's so _nasty! _And _bigoted!_ It's not fair, I'm just as good — '

'That's the spirit,' said Harry. 'Really, it's all about magic — because it's passed down from parents to their kids, see? Nobody knows quite how Muggleborns happen, any more than Sq — nonmagical people with magical parents.' Daphne shot him a quizzical look. 'If you end up being magically talented, it won't matter so much that you're Muggleborn. To some people, it won't matter at all. That's how it was with my mother — she was really popular, apparently.'

'_Oh.' _She looked relieved. 'That's all right then. I mean, it doesn't seem very hard, does it? Magic, that is. And I hear the library is simply enormous. Think of all the information there is in there! I could learn _so many _spells and — '

'Well, a lot of the books are Restricted,' said Neville. 'You have to get a pass from a teacher to look at them.'

'Oh, that won't be a problem,' Hermione said airily. 'Teachers always like me. Not that I'd want to do anything Dark — '

Harry and Neville grinned at each other, thinking of the Black library.

Hermione was still blathering on five minutes later, completely unaided by the other four. When she finally paused for breath, Susan leapt into the breach.

'Harry, Neville, you never said what houses you wanted to be in?'

'I . . . I'll probably be a Hufflepuff,' said Neville.

'No, he won't,' Harry said. 'Hufflepuff is about hard work and getting along with other people. You like being by yourself too much.' He smiled at Susan. 'Honestly, I think I could go anywhere — probably not Hufflepuff, though.'

'No,' said Susan, studying him, 'you don't really seem like it.'

'That boy who helped us was a Hufflepuff,' Neville said. 'He was really nice.'

'What boy?' Hermione demanded. 'Why did you need help?'

'Our trunks — we didn't think of the Levitation Charm. His name was Cedric.'

'Diggory,' Harry added.

Susan giggled. 'Auntie says that Mr Diggory is _always_ boasting about his son. Was Cedric a third year?'

'Maybe,' said Neville. 'I thought he looked older, though. I wish I knew somebody here — older, I mean. Brothers or sisters. It's just going to be me, and if I _do _end up in Hufflepuff . . . well, there's no way you'll be there, Harry . . . it'll be just me and I won't know anybody or anything!'

'It's not that special,' said Daphne. 'Mostly they just tease you, though mine did promise to hex anyone who bothered me.'

Neville gave a longing sigh.

'Are they Hufflepuffs?' Hermione asked. Daphne gave her an odd look.

'No — Charon's a Ravenclaw, and Andromache's Slytherin.'

'My uncle taught me some hexes,' Harry said happily. 'Just in case anybody's, you know, presumptuous.'

Neville and Susan looked at each other, trying to keep their faces straight. For somebody so basically good natured, Harry took himself _very _seriously.

'Which ones?' Daphne asked.

'The Leg-Locker Curse and the Full Body-Bind. He said they'd be useful for the rest of my life, not just first year stuff. I'm not very good at the Body-Bind yet, though.'

Neville frowned. 'How do you know whether you're good or not, Harry? He didn't have you hex _him_, did he?'

'No,' Harry said casually, 'he sent for Kreacher.'

'Harry!' He wouldn't laugh. It was very wrong to hex a house-elf . . . at least, one's own house-elf . . . but Kreacher was just _awful. _

'What sort of creature?' Hermione asked interestedly.

Everyone looked at one another.

'His _name _is Kreacher — K-R-E-A-C-H-E-R — and he's a house-elf,' said Harry finally. 'He works for my godfather's family and he's completely insane.'

Her brows furrowed. 'You pay him, though?'

'House-elves don't have much use for money,' Neville said. 'We give them what they'll accept. But you can't think they're human, because they're not, and they don't want the things we do.'

'They're people, aren't they?' she demanded.

'Yes,' said Harry. 'And this is the wizarding world, Granger. There are a lot of people — beings, I mean — out there who aren't human.'


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N**: In celebration of DH, here's another chapter (familiar to some of you) -- though I'll keep writing, no matter what happens!

**Chapter Four**

_The Great Hall, Hogwarts_

_1 September 1991_

'So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!'

Neville stared at the Hat. After all that talk about a test, about the spells they'd need and how much it would hurt, it was a _hat_?

On the other hand, it was an enchanted hat. It probably could very well hurt.

He threw a nervous glance at the ghosts, gathered together. The Fat Friar seemed really nice, like Cedric . . . maybe Hufflepuff wouldn't be so bad. Just, loyal, hard-working, patient. It didn't sound that far off.

They didn't sound like duffers, either.

Professor McGonagall — who Harry and Neville had heard _plenty _about from James and Sirius — stepped forward, holding a long roll of parchment.

'When I call your name,' she said, 'you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted.' She paused. 'Abbott, Hannah!'

A girl who reminded Neville vaguely of himself — small, fair, and round — stumbled out of the line and sat down. It was only a moment before the hat declared,

'HUFFLEPUFF!'

Susan was right after her, and his heart rose to hear once more,

'HUFFLEPUFF!'

The Bulstrode that Daphne had mentioned, a strong, heavy-set girl with black hair in a heavy plait down her back, became the year's first Slytherin. She was followed by several more students, then the first of Neville's other friends. Well, in fact he was a bit leery about calling the bossy, overbearing girl a _friend_ exactly . . . but he knew her, and she seemed all right, so that made her practically as good as.

'Granger, Hermione!'

She almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her curly head. She sat there, almost as long as Seamus Finnigan had, and finally, the hat shouted,

'RAVENCLAW!'

Daphne looked horrified even as Professor McGonagall called her own name.

It only took the hat a few moments. 'SLYTHERIN!'

Neville gulped. Would she still be friends with them now? After all, a pureblood from a good family on both sides, like Daphne, probably would be quite popular in her own house. But she waved cheerfully at him as she took the hat off. She didn't seem to really mind. Now there was one of them in each house but Gryffindor — he'd be assured of at least some sort of companionship as long as ended up anywhere but . . . well, where he'd dreamed of ending up.

The next three after Daphne, Wayne Hopkins, Megan Jones, and Su Li, all ended up in Hufflepuff, and then it was Neville's turn. He walked on trembling feet, feeling every eye in the room on him.

'Longbottom, did she say?'

'_The _Neville Longbottom?'

People were craning to look at him. Neville shut his eyes, and when he opened them, he was staring at the inside of the hat.

'Ooh, a challenge,' a voice said in his ear.

Neville sighed and made himself comfortable.

'A decent mind, desire to prove yourself, plenty of gumption . . . not bad, not bad. Now, let me see . . .'

_Not Ravenclaw, _Neville thought desperately. _I don't care what colour my sparks were. I'd be just awful there. Just put me in Hufflepuff and get this __**over**__ with. Everybody's still staring at me, I bet . . ._

Vague thoughts flickered quickly past. 'Hufflepuff?' the hat repeated. 'Don't be ridiculous. What an odd duck you'd be . . .'

Odd duck. _No birds. I __**really**__ don't want Ravenclaw, sir. Ma'am. Whichever._

'You don't really _want_ anything exceptional, do you?'

_I want to not be put in Ravenclaw._

'A bit of companionship, moderate success . . .'

_I'd like to be with Harry — but he's not been Sorted yet. And I want to do my family proud._

'Family, eh?' It seemed to be rifling in his head some more. 'Now I understand. You want to be a good wizard, don't you?'

_No, I don't really care how good I am . . . I mean, I don't want to be terrible but . . . no, it's the people who want to be really brilliant who are in Ravenclaw. I just want to be normal. _

'Well, that clears it all up,' the hat said decidedly. 'There's nowhere else for you but . . . GRYFFINDOR!'

The room exploded into applause, some of the Gryffindors actually jumping up and shouting, 'We got Longbottom! We got Longbottom!'

He then proceeded to embarrass himself by running off with the Hat still on his head, and had to return it; but the laughter seemed more friendly than anything, and so he was smiling broadly when he finally sat down at the table.

They were still cheering wildly when the Hat shouted 'GRYFFINDOR!' again and Morag MacDougal raced towards them, slipping into the empty space next to Neville.

'Hi,' she said brightly, holding out her hand. 'I'm _so _pleased to be in Gryffindor, aren't you?'

Neville beamed. 'Yes,' he said. Maybe once Harry was Sorted, they could all be friends. 'Yes, I am.'

He glanced up just in time to see Malfoy walking up, the swagger in his step unnervingly akin to Sirius at his most obnoxious. The Hat, to nobody's surprise, declared him a Slytherin almost before touching his head, and the applause began all over again. Then, as he walked towards his table, Malfoy hesitated — paused — glanced over his shoulder. His smirk melted into a delighted grin — he nodded at somebody. Curious, Neville followed his gaze, expecting . . . well, more Death Eater spawn. A Rosier, or Nott, or something like that.

It was Harry.

Neville went cold, unable to tear his eyes away from his cousin, who was waving and cheering as if _Draco Malfoy_ getting Sorted into Slytherin was the most wonderful, unbelievable thing that had ever happened to anyone. Then it was over, and Neville could only gasp in relief.

'Are you all right?' Morag asked. 'You look sick, Neville.'

'I'n fine, thanks,' he said automatically. The moment had passed, and Harry was clapping politely as no less than three new Slytherins — Lilith Moon, Theodore Nott (_I knew it!_), and Pansy Parkinson — joined Malfoy. Professor McGonagall looked cross, and Professor Snape grimly pleased.

A pair of identical twins were, to general astonishment, split between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, then Sally-Anne Perks went into Hufflepuff, and Harry was walking up to the Hat, head held high. Neville squinched his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable 'GRYFFINDOR!' Instead, he heard . . . nothing.

Opening his eyes, he saw that Harry was still at the stool, looking very pale and small and alone. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. Neville swallowed. He had been so sure that, as long as he got into Gryffindor, he and Harry would go through Hogwarts together, not just family but best friends — and somewhere, there had been the less praiseworthy idea that he'd be safe because nobody would dare cross Harry —

Then he thought that Harry did not seem very forceful at all up there, dwarfed by his robes and the Hat. Why was it taking so long? That could only mean that he fit in more than one House, and wasn't so unquestionably Gryffindor as Neville had always believed he was. But that didn't make any sense. _Nobody_ could be more Gryffindorish than Harry Potter. Harry wasn't afraid of anything!

Something that Sirius had said, long ago, sprang into his mind. _Courage isn't about fearlessness, Nev. It's about overcoming what fears you do have. _And Harry had told him, over and over again — not two weeks ago, he'd said, _I wouldn't be surprised if I ended up there, but . . . well, I wouldn't be surprised if I didn't, either. It's complicated._

The Hat evidently thought so.

Harry's lips moved, his fingers clutching at his black robes, and whispers went around the room, growing louder with each second. Neville listened in silent, wretched agony.

'You know, the Wiltshire Potters?'

'Is his father really the Mr Potter in the Ministry?' a red-haired prefect asked enviously. 'My dad says he'll be Department Head one day.'

'I don't know, he's too young, isn't he?'

'But he's done so much _more_ than all those old people — besides, Scrimgeour will be around for awhile.'

Somebody whispered, '_James Potter's _son? Really? I didn't know he had any kids — isn't his wife dead?'

'SLYTHERIN,' said the Hat.

* * *

Melanie: Yes, I am aware of that (along with several million other people, I imagine). That my Dark Lord isn't Tom Riddle is rather important to the plot. 


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

_The Great Hall, Hogwarts_

_1 September 1991_

SLYTHERIN — _Slytherin_ — Slytherin . . .

The word echoed around and around Neville's mind, blocking out any other thoughts. His mouth open and eyes wide, he stared as Harry walked past the Gryffindor table, waving a little at Neville, as if nothing had happened. Malfoy sprang up, held out his hand — Harry took it and said something, making the other first-years laugh, then sat down between his new _friend_ and Daphne.

Neville couldn't think of anything else; the other students were Sorted, a new teacher introduced, and he paid no attention to any of it. When the Gryffindors finally went to bed, he lay awake for what seemed like hours, the scene playing over and over again in his mind.

_How _could this have happened? How could anyone so very brave, so very _good_ as Harry, have ended up in Slytherin? What would the family say? Cassie and Callidora? Well, they'd probably be pretty happy, they were Slytherins themselves. But they didn't understand what it was like now. Back when Cassie and Callidora were in school together, Dark Lords and their minions came from _Hufflepuff _of all places.

And Sirius. Oh Lord, Sirius. What would Harry say to him? What would _Neville_ say to him?

And how did he convince the Hat to put him in Slytherin, anyway? Had Harry _asked_ not to be put in Gryffindor? Had he wanted to get away from Neville? Harry was a good friend, but Neville — sniffling miserably — wouldn't blame him if _that's _why he'd asked to be put in Slytherin. He'd had the vague idea, sometimes, that Harry wanted very different things than he did. Well, they _were_ very different.

_That's not why we're in different Houses, though. _Through his shocked fog, he'd already noticed that the other first-year Gryffindors were incredibly different, not just from him, but from each other — Ron and Seamus and Morag so loud and outgoing, then two giggling scatterbrains, and some quieter ones too.

No, they were in different Houses because . . . because . . . Neville was sure Harry had _asked_ to go there. He'd been excited about the chance to prove himself at Hogwarts, he'd said — and that didn't leave much room for tagalongs, did it? Neville's eyes burned. Harry had wanted to go where nobody knew him, and he definitely hadn't wanted Neville holding him back from all the things he'd be able to do.

Neville tossed and turned. He didn't think Slytherins were bad or evil just because they were in Slytherin — you couldn't grow up at Grimmauld Place and not know that Slytherins came in all varieties — but he also knew that an awful lot of them were not, well, _pleasant. _And of those that were . . . well, he could hardly imagine Harry being like Callidora or even Cassie.

No, Harry had always chiefly divided his admiration between James and Arcturus and . . . had Arcturus put him up to it? Neville shook his head at the thought. He couldn't see the old man troubling himself, really. Not over something like this. Though he _had_ always liked Harry, in his grim, cantankerous sort of way.

Neville listened to the sound of the other boys breathing, and heaved a great sigh. Despite everything, he _was_ happy to be in Gryffindor — but it just wasn't the same without Harry.

-----

'Ow!'

'Get off my robe!'

'You stepped on Scabbers' tail!'

'Hurry up, or we won't have any time to eat.'

'Er . . .'

The day before, Neville had thought his dormmates seemed pleasant enough. Now he was surrounded by four loud, angry boys who were all taller than he was and who seemed to be everywhere. Neville took advantage of a brief pause and, grabbing his bag, raced down to the common room.

'There you are, Neville!'

He turned around. 'Katherine?' he asked, astonished. He vaguely remembered her as a quietly friendly girl who'd sat on his other side during the Sorting.

'We were wondering if you meant to just skip breakfast,' Morag told him from the chair she was sprawled upon. 'C'mon, we'd better go or we'll be late.'

Neville could understand people being nice because he was the Boy Who Lived, or because he was an orphan; but Katherine and Morag didn't really seem to care about that, not after the first minute or so.

He panted as he tried to keep up — both were faster than he — and gasped out, 'Well, then, why didn't you go?'

Morag's thick black brows drew together, her expression blank.

'That'd be right friendly of us,' Katherine said, laughing.

_Friendly. _Neville swallowed. He was glad that they didn't have to pass the Slytherin table to get to their own; instead, it was Hufflepuff they walked by, and Susan waved at him from the corner where she sat with a pink-faced girl in pigtails.

There were plenty of other people watching him, too — but that was different. They didn't care about _Neville_, just about what he had perhaps done when he was a baby. 'That's Neville Longbottom!' 'Who?' 'Where?' 'See -- next to the tall girl with the brown hair — ' 'Did you see him?' 'Did you see his _scar?_'

A minute and a half in, he was already heartily tired of it, and slid into his seat with a grateful sigh. Since his back was against the wall and he was towards the middle, it at least gave him space from all his . . . fans. Neville shuddered.

Of course, the problem with that was that he faced the Slytherin table, which was directly across from theirs. He steadfastly kept his face turned towards Katherine or Morag as they chattered, and only cast two quick glances away. Harry was there, talking with a trio of Slytherin girls. Neville, who had almost felt sorry for him, immediately quashed the feeling and returned to the conversation he was supposed to be a part of.

'All my family's wizarding,' Morag was saying. 'Can you imagine coming here and knowing _nothing_? No wonder some of them looked so petrified.'

'My mum says so,' Katherine replied. 'She's Muggleborn, and she only knew what the Ministry liaison people said. What with the ghosts and staircases and Peeves, she said she spent her first week pretty much reminding herself to breathe. The weirdest thing, though, is the portraits. Do you know that Muggle pictures don't move?'

Neville and Morag stared at her. 'Weird,' Neville said finally.

'How do the portraits talk, then?' Morag asked.

'That's the thing. They _don't._'

Neville and Katherine left their food half-eaten to get to class on time, since Morag didn't seem to care whether she was late or not.

Neville's first day was rather uneventful. It turned out that the Gryffindors had Herbology with the Hufflepuffs — three times a week! — and he gladly paired with Susan, blushing fiercely when Professor Sprout complimented them on the most promising asphodel.

On Tuesday, however, he and Katherine were turned around somehow. As they hurried to what they thought was their first class, they found the door locked, and tried to force it.

'And what is this?' a voice cackled. Both Gryffindors jumped; it was Filch, the caretaker. He hated students — and in return, all the students loathed him and his wretched cat. 'Students trying to break rules already? Gryffindors, of course — you wouldn't be afraid of a bit of — '

'We were trying to get to class!' Neville protested. 'We're lost!'

'Likely story,' growled the caretaker.

'Ex-excuse me, Mr F-Fi-Filch.' It was Professor Quirrell, who taught History of Magic — the very thing they were looking for. 'I-I'm sure these s-st-students were si-simply mi-mis-di-directed. C-come with me, ch-children.'

Gratefully, they followed him to the right classroom — but their gratitude couldn't make the class more interesting. Quirrell didn't dare tell them of anything more exciting than the birthdates of wizards he assured them were important, but was too frightened of to explain why. Neville tried valiantly to keep good notes, but even so he was certain he'd mixed up Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball somewhere. A good half of the class seemed to be dozing off; of the others, hardly any were listening. Ron Weasley was exchanging notes with Dean Thomas. Sophia Roper doodled on her parchment.

James and Sirius had insisted that nobody could be more boring than the last teacher, Professor Binns, but Neville thought Quirrell had even a ghost beat.

Fortunately, the class was only twice a week, on Tuesdays and Fridays. Neville, however, quickly found himself dreading his next two classes: Charms and Transfiguration. _Wand classes, _he thought glumly, and it was no surprise when his desk burst into flames.

'_Aguamenti!' _squeaked little Professor Flitwick. He had been so excited to read Neville's name on his class list that he'd toppled off the stack of books he used to bolster him up to ordinary height.

Neville and the feather were promptly soaked with water, and he had to drip for ten minutes until the professor remembered to dry them off. The second time he tried to flick his wand properly, it sent his quill zooming to the ceiling. Neville scowled at his wand as the feather slowly drifted down.

'Charms is my favourite so far,' burbled Katherine. 'Don't you think it's interesting?'

Morag looked as appalled as Neville felt. 'Interesting? Moving our wands around? If I hear _swish and flick_ one more time —'

'Well,' said Katherine, 'the way Professor Flitwick sent Sophia's cat around was pretty good, I thought.'

That, admittedly, had been funny. 'I wish we could just get right into the spells,' Morag said. 'Notes and more notes . . . what did you do, Neville? Now _that_ was interesting.'

'I don't know,' he said gloomily. 'My wand hates me.'

In Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall was clearly playing no favourites; Hermione Granger was the only person who had any effect on her matchstick, despite all the complicated notes they'd been forced to take, and received a very small smile from the teacher. The Gryffindors were all a bit dispirited, but Neville, trying to keep his wand from making a fool of him again, was rather grateful that he'd had no effect on his match at all.

Even Neville, however, was looking forward to Defence Against the Dark Arts.

'This is the real stuff,' said Morag, rubbing her hands together. Katherine plucked at her robe nervously.

'What if I'm horrible at it? I'll probably be worst in the class.'

'Don't be ridiculous,' Morag told her.

'No, _I'll_ be the worst,' said Neville. 'At least, if my wand has anything to say about it.' But even that couldn't dampen his enthusiasm. They'd be learning real stuff, useful stuff — and if he managed anything, his gran and Callidora would be so pleased —

'Neville!'

The familiar voice had him stiffening in place. He pretended he hadn't heard and walked on by, but Harry grabbed his arm. Neville couldn't avoid him, so he fixed his eyes on the green and silver tie at his neck.

'Neville, I've been trying to talk to you for _days_,' Harry said, acting for all the world like nothing had changed. 'What's wrong with you?'

As if _he _didn't know. Three other Slytherins— Malfoy, somebody who looked like his bodyguard, and Daphne — watched from a short distance away. Was it some sort of joke?

'I have to get to class, Harry,' Neville mumbled. Katherine politely averted her eyes, while Morag seemed nearly as interested as the Slytherins.

'I'll talk to you at dinner, then,' Harry said, swinging his bag over his shoulder. He joined his friends, and Neville could just hear their voices as they walked away.

'What did I tell you, Harry?' Malfoy said.

'I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding . . .'

Neville shook his head, but a frisson of doubt entered his mind. Harry didn't seem to _get_ it at all. Maybe . . . oh, he'd think about it later.

Morag, Katherine, and Neville crowded into a single seat, waiting eagerly for their teacher. The room was severe, with little more than their own desks and the teacher's. He was the one who had been introduced after the Sorting, the one who was new this year, and so, of course, the one that Neville knew absolutely nothing about.

Almost the instant before class was due to start, their professor stalked in. He was a tall, thin, black-haired man, about Professor McGonagall's age, with such severely regular features that, even if he'd been wearing pink instead of black, he would still have appeared grim and grave. Everyone fell silent and sat up a little straighter. Neville swallowed the sudden lump in his throat — the new teacher looked an awful lot like James Potter, only older, and without spectacles.

'Welcome to Defence Against the Dark Arts,' he said, in a cold, precise voice. 'I am Professor Riddle.'


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

_Hogwarts, Scotland_

_5 September 1991_

_Riddle, Riddle. Where have I heard that before? _Neville was certain he had, even though it wasn't a wizarding name.

'Boot — Brocklehurst — Brown — Cornfoot — Corner — Entwhistle — Finnigan.' The professor called out names with clear disinterest. Even Neville's received nothing more than a slight emphasis.

Professor Riddle went on crisply, 'In order to defend against the Dark Arts, you must first understand what they are.' With a flick of his wand, the words _Dark Arts_ appeared on the board in a neat, old-fashioned script. 'Does anyone here know what makes a spell Dark?'

Several hands shot in the air, though none so fast as Hermione's. She seemed practically on the edge of her seat, her fingers stretched as high as they would go.

'Miss Turpin?'

The Ravenclaw threw a smug glance at the class. 'Dark spells cause harm to other people,' she said.

'As do many others,' said Professor Riddle, 'including most of those you will be taught in this classroom. Anyone else?' He speared a glance around the room. Only Hermione's hand was still up. 'Miss MacDougal?'

Morag shrugged. 'Whatever the Ministry happens to disapprove of this week.'

Everyone stared at her; some choked back laughter, others seemed horrified. Professor Riddle permitted himself a chilly smile. 'An excellent point, Miss MacDougal, if not altogether accurate. Two points to Gryffindor.'

The Ravenclaws gasped as one.

'The first thing you should know,' said Professor Riddle, 'is that _illegal_ does not equal _Dark_, whatever the Ministry of Magic would have you think.' The words _not subject to the whims of the Ministry _appeared on the board. 'That does not, however, bring us any closer to understanding what the Dark Arts _are_. Any other suggestions? Mr Boot?'

'Er . . .' Terry shrugged. 'Spells you have to care about, I guess.'

'Yes and no. They do require a much greater degree of intent than most — one point to Ravenclaw — but that is not what makes them Dark. Miss Granger?'

Hermione straightened. 'The Dark Arts are spells which use the soul of the caster to cause harm.'

'Nine points to Ravenclaw for a nearly correct answer,' said Professor Riddle coolly. 'Not all Dark Arts are spells.'

'But, sir, the book said — '

He cut her off. 'The book was wrong.' Neville remembered some of the nastier pictures in _Most Potente Potions_, and shivered.

After class, they all trooped out, the Gryffindors in small groups, the Ravenclaws one-by-one, and made their way to the Great Hall for dinner. Neville made sure to sit at the end of the Gryffindor table, as far from Harry as possible, and determinedly kept up his side of the conversation as Morag and Katherine talked about their classes.

'But I heard that he was an _Auror!_'

'I don't care if he's channelling Merlin himself,' replied Morag. 'He's still the creepiest person I've ever met.'

'He does seem to know what he's talking about,' Neville said, glancing up at the staff table. His gaze fell on a hook-nosed man beside Professor Quirrell; he was thin, pale, and black-haired, like Professor Riddle, but much younger, and even more menacing. The teacher looked away, across the room — and straight at Neville. A jolt of pain burned Neville's scar; he instantly tore his eyes away, pressing his fingers against his forehead.

'—right? Neville?' Katherine peered at him worriedly.

'It's fine,' he managed, daring a sideways glance at the table. He could not escape the feeling that the teacher didn't like him. At all. 'Do you know who that teacher is? The greasy one?'

Katherine shrugged, but Morag poked Percy Weasley, who sat on her right, and asked him.

'That's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to — everyone knows he's after Riddle's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape.'

'Uh-oh,' muttered Neville.

Morag blinked. 'Do you know about him or something?'

'I know that he hated my uncles and my dad,' said Neville grimly. 'And he's not the sort to forget things — it took him and Uncle James _ten years_ to get along, and he and Uncle Sirius still haven't managed it.'

He was still chewing his lip with anxiety, thinking of the Potions class he had _already_ dreaded, when fortunately — or not — a familiar voice interrupted him.

'Neville.'

Neville gulped down the last of his pumpkin juice, and turned to face his cousin. Daphne, dark-haired and green-eyed like Harry, stood with him, but there was no sign of Malfoy, of any of the other Slytherins. He breathed a sigh of relief and managed to say weakly, 'H-Harry, Daphne. Hi.'

'Are you ready to talk?' Harry replied. 'You've been acting like a total git, Neville.'

Katherine giggled.

'Yeah, I guess,' said Neville. 'I mean, I guess I'm ready to talk. Oh! Sorry — Katherine, Morag, this is my cousin, Harry Potter. Harry, my friends, Morag MacDougal and Katherine Rivers.'

'Potter?' repeated Katherine. 'Are you related to James Potter?'

'He's my father.'

'Oh! Wow . . . I mean, that's just . . .' Her voice trailed off. 'Sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you.'

'It's fine.' Harry smiled at her, then threw Neville a challenging stare. 'So, d'you mind telling me what happened?'

Neville wet his lips, blushing furiously. 'Morag, Katherine . . . would you mind leaving me alone with Harry?'

'Sure,' said Katherine, hopping up. 'Bye, Potter, bye, Neville. Oh, and, er, you too.'

Morag stayed where she was. 'But Neville . . .'

'It's a family matter,' Harry said firmly.

'Oh, all right.'

Once she left, Neville found himself looking pleadingly at Daphne. She seemed even more recalcitrant than Morag, however, and did not budge at all. He sighed. 'Well, I was just . . .'

'Harry, Neville!' Another voice rang out. 'There you are . . . so, what did you think of Defence Against the Dark Arts? I thought Professor Riddle was _brilliant_, myself.'

All three turned to stare at Hermione Granger, who walked over and plopped herself right next to them.

'Sorry, Hermione,' Neville began, 'but we're, er, trying to . . .'

'Neville's about to tell us why he's been ignoring me ever since the Sorting, Granger.' Harry's eyes narrowed. 'I suppose you think you're too good for a lowly halfblood — '

Neville gasped. 'No! Harry, you can't think— I wouldn't! — that's just _awful_ — '

'Well, what am I supposed to think? Is it going to be Granger next?'

'I don't care about _that!_' He just hoped Harry hadn't written his suspicions home. James and Sirius would skin him alive . . . not to mention his _gran_. 'It's . . . it's not that, Harry. It's . . .'

Yet another voice interrupted them, this one soft and timid. 'Excuse me? I know it's none of my business . . . but, I was just wondering . . . that is, I hope nothing's wrong?'

Daphne laughed. 'Well, we should have expected _that_. Hello, Bones.'

'Hi, Susan,' Neville said miserably.

'And yes, something is wrong,' Harry added. 'Neville won't talk to me and I'm trying to get him to explain why. He says it's not about my being a halfblood . . .'

Susan gave a shocked gasp. 'Well, I should hope not! I'm a halfblood, aren't I, and not even wizardborn. Neville's been fine to _me_ . . . oh, I didn't mean it to sound like that . . .'

'It's Slytherin,' Neville blurted. 'Harry, why did you convince the Hat to put you in Slytherin?'

Everyone went silent. Harry stared at him, then gave an incredulous laugh. '_Convince _the Hat? What do you mean?'

'You were up there for five minutes, talking to it! You must have asked it to send you to Slytherin! You _wanted_ to get away from — ' _Away from me_, he'd meant, but that would sound so babyish.

'It was more like two minutes, actually,' interjected Hermione.

Harry snorted. 'Look, Neville, I didn't try and convince of it anything.'

'You were _talking_, I saw you — '

'I told the Hat that it wasn't my job to choose, and that I didn't want Hufflepuff — sorry, Susan — but I never _asked_ to be put in Slytherin, all right? It did consider Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, but it was pretty obvious that it wanted Slytherin practically from the first. It was going on about how well I'd do there — that it'd would help me on the path to greatness and all that. And that if I went to Slytherin, I'd be more than — ' He snapped his mouth shut.

'More than what?' asked Neville.

Harry flushed. 'I want people to look at me and see something other than James Potter's son, all right? You saw what your friend — Waters? — was like. And everyone's the same. I don't mind Dad being so famous and all, but that's not me. And there's nothing wrong with wanting to be great!' His voice rose. 'I've just as much right to be in Slytherin as Daphne, or Draco, or anybody, and it doesn't make us evil, and if you've got a problem with it, well, just say so.'

'I don't!' Neville knew, then, that he'd been horribly wrong. He'd just never thought of Harry as Slytherin at all — it had seemed that he _must_ have been, well, really persuasive to get the Hat to put him there. But now it turned out to be the other way around. 'Harry,' he said penitently, 'I'm _sorry_, really, I am. Please forgive me.'

Harry hesitated.

'Oh, please _do_, Harry,' said Susan, clasping her hands. 'You've been friends for ages, I can tell, and it would be silly to break it up over something so silly. Besides, it was just a misunderstanding . . . it's all cleared up now, isn't it?'

Neville nodded fervently. 'Yes, it is . . and I promise, next time I'll _ask _you.'

'Oh, all right.' Harry grinned. 'But you owe me now.'

'Okay,' said Neville amiably.

For one awkward moment, nobody knew what to do; then Hermione said, 'Can we talk about Defence Against the Dark Arts now?'


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

_6 September 1991_

_Hogwarts, Scotland_

Neville didn't know whether to hurry to Potions, or to put it off as long as possible. He was still lingering indecisively about the dungeons when Harry found him.

'Oi, Neville! Wait up!'

Neville turned to face his cousin. 'Hi, Harry. Is something wrong?'

'No,' Harry panted, 'I was just wondering . . . d'you want me to pair with you? I thought maybe those Gryffindor girls might stick together, and, well, you won't want to be alone.'

Neville beamed. 'That'd be great, Harry . . . if you're sure your Housemates won't mind, that is.' He threw a nervous glance at the trio of girls lurking a few feet away; they were Slytherins, but an entirely different group from Harry's usual crew.

'I don't think they will. Theodore likes to work by himself, and — Lily, you and Millicent will take care of Tracey, won't you?' Neville froze.

'Of course,' said a delicate blonde girl. She looked utterly unlike the pictures of poor mad Aunt Lily.

'I'll try to keep Goyle from killing anyone,' added another, who bore a startling resemblance to a troll. 'See you in class, Harry — don't be late, or Professor Snape'll use you for Potions ingredients.'

All four Slytherins laughed, then the girls went on their way. 'Is Pr-professor Snape really that bad?' Neville asked in a hushed whisper.

'I don't know,' replied Harry. 'None of us have really seen him yet, but Andromache — that's Daphne's older sister, she's a prefect — says he's really strict, and even though he favours Slytherin in public, in private, he'll make anyone who shames the House wish they'd never been born.'

Neville felt a rush of gratitude for stern, distant Professor McGonagall. 'Oh,' he said weakly. 'Er, speaking of Daphne . . . did you have an argument or something? I thought she and Malfoy were your friends, but you're with these other people now.' It was a cheerful thought, though he liked Daphne.

'Don't be silly,' said Harry, laughing. 'People can have more than one group of friends, Neville. I mean, look at you — you've got MacDougal and Waters — '

'It's Rivers, Harry.'

'Yeah, anyway, there's them, and then Susan, and then me, and none of us really have much to do with each other. Daphne and Draco aren't exactly each other's friends, they're just mine, and Lily and Tracey and Millicent and me — well, we've got to stick together, that's all. C'mon. You shouldn't give Professor Snape any more reasons to hate you.'

'He hates me?' exclaimed Neville, hurrying behind his cousin. 'But — but he doesn't _know_ me!'

'Well, it isn't anything to do with you, or at least not _much_. But he'll probably see that you're different from Mr Longbottom . . . eventually. He forgave Dad, after all.'

Despite Harry's airy tone, Neville couldn't help feeling the words as ominous. He tried to make himself small and unobtrusive as he took out his Potions supplies, then sat frozen in place as he waited. He could see that most of the other Gryffindors were similarly paralysed, while the Slytherins chattered easily in their little groups, unperturbed by pieces of pickled animals floating about in assorted bottles.

Then Professor Snape swooped in. Up close, he was nothing like Professor Riddle, his hair hanging in great greasy clumps around his dead-white face. Cold black eyes surveyed the room.

Everyone fell quiet; like Professor McGonagall, he had the gift of silencing an entire room. There was no blather about 'Welcome to Potions' either; he picked up the roll and said in a voice full of menace,

'Lavender Brown.'

Nobody spoke, and Snape said sharply, but no more loudly, _'Lavender. Brown.'_

'I'm here!' squeaked Lavender, clinging to Parvati Patil's arm. 'Sorry, Professor . . .'

Snape looked contemptuous. 'Millicent Bulstrode.'

'Here, sir,' the troll-girl announced.

'Tracey Davis.'

'She's here too, Professor,' Bulstrode told him. Snape only raised his eyebrow a bit, and Neville couldn't help wondering what his reaction would have been if a _Gryffindor_ had pulled that trick.

Like the other teachers, he paused at Neville's name, but there was no mistaking the malice lighting up his face as he said, 'Ah, yes. Neville Longbottom. Our new . . . _celebrity_.'

Somebody, probably Draco Malfoy, sniggered behind his hand. The Gryffindors seemed angry, and Harry rather distressed, and even more so once his Head of House acknowledged _his_ name was a curl of the lip.

Once it was over, Snape set down the list and glared at them all, to all appearances as unhappy to be there as the students were, and then began speaking in just above a whisper. 'You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses . . . I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.'

Neville gulped, and shrunk down further. Harry stared at the professor in wide-eyed fascination. Morag and Katherine, just in front of them, were exchanging meaningful looks.

'Longbottom!' barked Snape. 'What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?'

Neville wracked his brains. Had Professor Sprout said anything in Herbology? They had grown asphodel . . . but she'd been talking about how to keep it _alive! _And he was sure that it wasn't something he and Harry had _ever_ made. 'Er . . .' He threw a quick, desperate glance at his cousin, who mouthed something. But Neville couldn't read lips.

'I don't know, sir.'

'Tut, tut. Clearly, fame isn't everything.' His eyes drifted to Harry, and narrowed. 'Potter! Where would you look if I told you to find a bezoar?'

'In the stomach of a goat,' said Harry promptly. Snape actually blinked, then stared at him, before turning back to Neville with a sneer. Harry scowled.

'What is the difference, Longbottom, between monkshood and wolfsbane?'

'Er . . . monkshood is . . .' Harry was shaking his head wildly. Even Neville could see the word on his lips — _no, no, no. _But he hadn't even said anything! Unless . . . he was struck by a burst of inspiration. 'A-are they the same thing, sir?'

'Longbottom . . .' Professor Snape's voice lowered still further. '_I _am asking questions. _You_ are answering them, or rather, failing to do so. For your information, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Sleeping Death. A bezoar will save you from most poisons. Monkshood and wolfsbane are names for aconite. Well? Why aren't you copying that down?'

There was a burst of noise as everyone took out quills and parchment. After a moment, Snape's voice cut through the sound. 'One point to Slytherin, Mr Potter, for coming to class prepared . . .unlike _some people._'

Neville flinched. Class didn't get any better; Professor Snape put instructions up on the board, and switched all the Gryffindor pairs around. The Slytherins were allowed to remain as they were, except Harry, of course. Neville ended up beside Seamus Finnigan, so nervous that his fingers shook.

'I hope you're not just good at defeating Dark Lords,' Seamus said cheerfully. 'I'm pants at Potions, Mum always said so.'

'Actually, I'm horrible . . .'

It was even worse than his few lone experiments at Grimmauld Place. Partly, of course, it was because Snape was there, sweeping around and criticising just about everyone but Malfoy. He was just telling the class to admire Malfoy's stewed slugs when It Happened. Something — Neville didn't know what — but Something had happened to Seamus' cauldron. It melted down to a blob, and their potion began spilling out. Neville vaguely heard cries and exclamations from the other students, but as he was drenched in the potion and boils were springing up over his body, he wasn't in much of a condition to notice anything.

'Idiot boy!' snarled Snape, vanishing the remnants of their potion. 'I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?'

Tears slid down Neville's pustule-covered cheeks.

'Take him to the hospital wing,' the professor snapped at Seamus, then rounded furiously on the nearest group of Gryffindors. 'You — Weasley — why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? A point from Gryffindor.'

* * *

Neville didn't know whether to be glad or not that he only had one class with the Slytherins. It would've been nice to see Harry more often (sometimes he thought longingly of the Polyjuice they had brewed), but Snape was awful, and then there were Ron and Malfoy. They absolutely hated each other — as much as Snape hated Neville — and either Ron was calling Malfoy names or Malfoy was sabotaging Ron's potions. The whole thing was exhausting, not to mention dangerous (Neville was careful never to partner with Ron, because they'd probably blow the whole room up). And it was _awkward_, because Neville rather liked Ron, but Harry and Malfoy were thick as thieves.

He decided it was better this way when he set eyes on the notice of Flying lessons. The Gryffindor and Slytherin first-years were together, and Neville's imagination kept filling with terrible, gory, _bloody _images. If he was to die ignonimously, why did it have to be in front of all of Slytherin House? Meanwhile, everybody else was boasting about what brilliant flyers they all were — everybody, that was, except Neville himself . . . and Harry.

'I don't understand,' he said. 'I bet you're better than all of them.'

Harry gave a noncommital shrug.

'Harry, you're nearly as good as Uncle James, and he was _an international Quidditch star!_'

'I'm nearly as _fast_ as he is,' corrected Harry.

'Yeah, well, that's better than anything they can do. Bet you five Galleons.'

'Nah.' Harry grinned. 'You might be right.'

'So why don't you say anything when they're all bragging about escaping the Muggle flying things?'

''Cause I haven't ever nearly flown into a hellycopper,' said Harry. 'Dad would've skinned me alive.'

They were still bickering as they made their way to the lawn, separating to join their Houses, Neville clutching his new present in his right hand. Persephone had arrived with the Remembrall and four letters only that morning. _Good luck, _Harry mouthed, and turned to say something to Malfoy.

Shortly afterwards, their grey-haired, yellow-eyed teacher arrived. 'Well? What are you all waiting for? Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.'

Everyone hurried to obey, Neville ending up across from Harry and between Ron and Morag. 'Stick your right hand over your broom,' Madam Hooch called, 'and say "up!" '

'Up,' they all chorused, Neville's voice shaking. Harry's broom jumped up, smacking against his hand, but hardly anybody else's did. Lavender's barely twitched, and Neville's own stayed firmly on the ground; he was too relieved to feel embarrassed. Finally, all the brooms ended up in the proper hands. Madam Hooch told the students how to mount them, and she went up and down the row, correcting their grips.

Neville tried to contain his delight when she told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years.

'Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle — three — two — '

Neville was so nervous, so shaky, that before she'd so much as raised the whistle to her lips, he pushed off, and was in the air. It could have been fun, but it wasn't; sky and clouds and trees whirled alarmingly before his eyes, he thought he was going to throw up, he could _feel _sweat rolling down his clammy cheeks, and before he could think of anything to do, he was sliding sideways, and down — he let out a scream — and landed on the ground with a loud _crunch_.

Vaguely, he could hear Harry's furious voice mingling with Katherine's and Morag's — they sounded worried — and then the addition of Ron Weasley's quavering one.

'Is he going to _die_?'

'There are supposed to be spells for that kind of thing!' screeched Malfoy. 'Wait until I tell my father — '

A shadow fell over him — it was Madam Hooch. She touched his wrist and he gave a cry of pain. 'Broken wrist,' she said, more to Neville than Ron. 'Not one of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say "Quidditch." Come on, dear.'

Cold sweat transformed into hot tears as Neville hobbled with her, the teacher wrapping her arm reassuringly around him. Harry, for his part, stood frozen in place, the scene flashing before his eyes, Neville falling over and over again, ten — twelve — _twenty_ feet. He was supposed to protect Neville! He was younger, yes, but it was only a day, and he'd _promised_ his father — and — and it was just what he did — and why had he let the Hat put him in Slytherin anyway? How was he supposed to manage it in a _different House_ when he failed so badly here, where he stood mere feet away from his cousin?

He only looked up when a girl laughed. Not Daphne!—no, it was that horrid Pansy Parkinson, Draco's hanger-on who was so horrid to Goyle all the time.

'Look!' she cried, snatching a red ball out of the grass. Oh no — Neville's Remembrall. Harry's heart stuck in his throat. 'It's that stupid thing Longbottom's grandmother sent him.'

How did she know? Neville wouldn't have told her — and he hadn't — and Daphne never talked to her if she could avoid it —

'Give that here, Parkinson,' Harry said quietly. Neville's friends, the two Gryffindor girls who were always with him, stared at him in astonishment. Everybody else paused to watch. Lily and Millicent took two steps closer to him, drawing their wands, and Pansy smiled nastily.

'I think I'll leave it somewhere for your precious cousin to find, Potter. How about . . . up a tree?'

'Give it here!'

But she was already on her broomstick, and quickly swooping into the air. She was a decent flier — but nothing to Harry, who soared up just as he'd practised, dozens and dozens of times. It had been too long since he'd been on a broom, felt the wind rushing through his air, his robes flying every which way, his heart pounding in his ears. He spun in midair, turning to face her. He could hear shouts and whoops of admiration, from Draco, Lily, Millicent, and even, maybe, a Gryffindor or two. _It's in your blood, Harry. _He could hear Sirius' voice all over again, see the pride shining in his eyes.

'Give it here,' said Harry again, 'or I'll knock you off your broom!'

'Oh, yeah?' She was trying to sneer, but she didn't really have that face for it, especially now that she looked worried. _Common_, Draco had called her, and Harry could see what he meant. It wasn't just breeding. Then a crafty look slid into her brown eyes —

'Catch it if you can!' she shouted, throwing the ball high in the air.

'_No!' _

Neville would never trust him again. Harry rushed forward without even thinking; he'd never chased a proper Snitch, let alone a tiny scarlet ball, but he pulled the broom downward in a sharp dive — and he'd never done anything like it before, all the colours were running together, screams ringing in his ears, a cat yowling from a window that blurred by — and a foot away from the ground, he reached out and snatched the Remembrall, pulling out of the dive just in time to slide off the broom, his legs weak.

'_Harry!' _The cry was echoed by a good half of Slytherin House, Draco and Daphne, Lily and Millicent and Tracey. Even the imperturbable Nott was staring at him with mouth open and eyes wide. Lily and Daphne threw their arms about him in turn, and Draco tried to look angry, but couldn't.

'Merlin's beard, Harry! Why didn't you _tell_ me you could fly like that?'

Harry shrugged. 'Well, you know . . . it's just Dad. He taught me. I didn't think it fair to brag.'

'Fair,' repeated Draco, as if it were a foreign word. 'Right.'

Once the excitement died down, the students sat down again, Gryffindors on one side, Slytherins on another, Pansy carefully staying a few feet from Harry. Everything seemed fine — then, just as he caught sight of a tall form hurrying towards them, he clearly heard Pansy say,

'Did you see his face, the great lump?'

She was talking about Neville again. Harry's left hand clenched around the Remembrall, raised letters digging into his palm, and his jaw clenched so hard that it hurt. Some of the other Slytherins began laughing; not any of the other girls, but _all _of the boys.

'Draco, _don't!_' Harry cried inarticulately. 'He's my friend — my _cousin_ — ' He knew already that the latter had more weight amongst his Housemates.

It was enough though; Draco's mirth immediately faded, and he looked rather embarrassed. 'Oh, I forgot,' he said. 'Sorry.'

'A right little pet, aren't you, Malfoy?' jeered Blaise Zabini, a thin dark-skinned boy. 'I'd have thought you had better taste than _Potter._'

'How _dare _you?' hissed Draco, springing to his feet, Harry right behind him. 'You take that back, right now! Or I'll — '

'Yeah, tell your father. Well, I'll tell him the truth, why don't I? I'm sure he'd be glad to hear that his heir is taking orders from the son of some filthy Mudblood —'

Harry caught a bare glimpse of Draco, pale and furious, before his mind filled with an image of his mother, her green eyes vacant and her face slack. Before he knew what had happened, the spell came screaming out of his mouth.

'_Petrificus Totalus!'_

At the same moment, there was a flash to his left._ 'Furunculus!'_

Zabini gave a shriek of pain and crumpled to the ground. Harry and Draco glanced up, meeting each other's eyes rather sheepishly. Draco's wand was still raised.

Then they realised that they'd just betrayed Slytherin feuds for all of the Gryffindor first year to see. Ron Weasley was gaping at them. Alaric Runcorn was trying not to laugh. Everybody else was talking loudly and urgently.

'Snape is going to _kill_ us,' whispered Draco, lowering his wand. Harry dropped his too.

'I. Am. So. Dead.'

Before they could consider their imminent demise any further, a sharp, incisive, female voice cut through the clamour.

'_HARRY POTTER!' _They knew the instant she saw Zabini. She paused in her tracks, robes billowing, lips thinning, eyes freezing over — and added for good measure, _'DRACO MALFOY!'_ After several great heaving breaths, the professor said, 'Potter. Malfoy. Follow me now.'


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

_6 September 1991  
_

_Hogwarts, Scotland_

'When my father hears of this — '

'Mr Malfoy,' said Professor McGonagall icily, 'your father does not oversee all decisions at Hogwarts, and certainly not this one.'

Draco lowered his voice, and said to Harry, 'When my father hears of this, he's going to _kill me. _And Grandfather — ' He gulped, his shoulders slumping. Harry looked sympathetic for a moment, then gasped.

'Oh no! _My_ father! If I'm expelled . . .'

'Father says there's some great drunken oaf of a gamekeeper — he was expelled but Dumbledore kept him on. Maybe he'll let us . . . follow him along or something.'

Harry wrinkled his nose. 'We wouldn't have to, we're _wizards_ . . . would they snap our wands, do you think?'

'Plenty of people don't ever come here at all, and they're allowed to do magic. I don't see why they'd have any business breaking our wands. We'd just have to get new ones and all.'

Harry clutched his. 'But I _like_ mine . . . besides, I think there's something _mysterious_ about it. Mr Ollivander seemed really surprised that I got it, so I'm going to find out why.'

'If we don't get expelled.'

'Yeah.'

They fell into silence for a few minutes, hurrying to keep up with Professor McGonagall's long strides, then Draco said, 'D'you think Ollivander was right about Longbottom's wand? He seemed more worried about ending up in Ravenclaw, honestly, but if he's got a hair from the same unicorn as the Dark Lord . . .' His voice trailed off.

'Ollivander knows what he's doing, I reckon, and Neville's really special,' said Harry proudly. 'The only reason he doesn't do better is because he's a bit frightened. And Dad says that it's control that's his problem. That's why he's so bad at Potions.'

'I thought it was because Professor Snape hated him.'

'He was pretty bad even before Professor Snape. I mean, I blew stuff up, but I was _experimenting_. And I was just little. Neville . . . well, he gets scared. He doesn't like magic that can go wrong.'

Draco laughed scornfully, then stopped with a fearful glance at Professor McGonagall. 'What sort of magic is that?' he whispered.

'Herbology,' said Harry.

Draco snorted — then, with a glance around, turned even whiter than usual. 'Harry,' he said tremulously, 'we're going to — t-to _the dungeons._'

'We live in the dungeons, Draco. It could be worse — '

'Don't be an idiot. We're going to _Professor Snape!_'

'Oh!' Harry's voice squeaked. 'Well, maybe it'll be fine . . . he likes _you_ . . .'

Draco flushed. 'He doesn't seem to mind you, any more — I think he calls on you in Potions just to have an excuse to give points to Slytherin.'

'Yeah, that's fun.' Harry grinned. 'He does it mostly when it looks like another House is gaining on us, did you notice? It helps, I guess, that I'm a Slytherin. He hated me as much as Neville at first, or nearly, but wasn't half so bad.'

Draco shrugged. 'He takes care of us, 'cause everybody else hates us. Even if he doesn't have anything to do with the first years, except in Potions.'

'Neville doesn't hate us!' Harry protested.

'The _teachers_, Harry.'

They walked right past the Potions classroom — Draco's heart lifted — then it thudded back in place, filling his ears as Professor McGonagall marched right up to a blank piece of wall and announced, _'Felus.'_

After a long moment — Draco took several steps closer to Harry — the wall slid open, and Professor Snape appeared. He looked every bit as dour and menacing as usual, if not more so.

'Professor McGonagall,' he said flatly, lifting one eyebrow. Then his eyes fell on the two Slytherins behind her, and narrowed. 'Is there some sort of difficulty with Potter and Malfoy?'

'Difficulty!' Her nostrils flared. 'Never — in all my time at Hogwarts — ' She exhaled a breath, then said, more calmly, 'I am not discussing this matter in the _hallway_.' She swept right past him, into what seemed to be some part of his private rooms. Harry and Draco glanced nervously from one teacher to the other.

'By all means, Minerva, come inside and make yourself at home. I would hate for you to feel as if you were in _someone else's quarters_.' When she only sniffed, he turned to the boys and said, 'Potter, Malfoy. _In._'

The wall slammed shut behind them, sounding rather like — well — a dungeon door. Harry and Draco, unsure which adult was more to be dreaded, stood an equal distance from both and close together, treading on each other's robes.

'Very well,' said Professor Snape, striding across the room to face Professor McGonagall over a strangely innocuous couch, 'to what do I owe the honour of your presence?'

'I cannot even _count_ how many rules these two — miscreants — have broken in the last half-hour!' she exclaimed.

'Ah, well. As I recall, Arithmancy was never your strong suit. Perhaps you should leave it to me to decide.'

'_That_, Professor Snape, was my object in bringing them here.' She took several deep breaths. 'I saw this boy — Potter — on a broomstick, several minutes after Madam Hooch had taken Neville Longbottom to the infirmary.'

Snape's lip curled. 'Do you expect me to pretend to be surprised, Minerva? After all, his father, not to mention his _godfather_, sets no stock by mere rules — '

Draco glanced at Harry, who was furiously biting his lip, but before either could do anything, Professor McGonagall cried, 'He caught that thing — ' she pointed at the Remembrall — 'in his _hand_, after a fifty-foot dive! James Potter couldn't have done it.'

Professor Snape's eyes widened, the contempt fading from his face. He gave Harry a calculating look. 'Are you certain, Minerva?' he demanded. 'It was not some — trick — or, or — '

'I know what I saw,' she said coldly. 'He didn't take a scratch.'

Professor Snape's expression became positively hungry. 'I believe I might have a word with Professor Dumbledore,' he said smoothly. 'A rather ridiculous rule, I've always thought . . .'

'I'm sure, Severus.' Professor McGonagall gave him a frosty smile. 'There is, however, another small matter — '

'And what might that consist of? Is Malfoy channelling his cousin's ability now?'

_Cousin? _Draco mouthed at Harry, who shrugged.

Grimly, Professor McGonagall said, 'It _consists of_ Mr Malfoy's unprovoked attack upon another student. Fifty points from Slytherin, at least — '

'_Unprovoked?' _Draco shouted. 'You weren't even there — you don't know anything — you couldn't have heard — '

'It wasn't just Draco, either,' Harry added. 'We both hexed him. And he deserved it!'

'I wonder, Minerva, why you bothered bringing this matter to my attention at all,' drawled Professor Snape, 'since my own opinion is clearly unnecessary and undesired.'

'I was _suggesting_ appropriate consequences for Mr Malfoy's — excuse me, Mr Malfoy and Mr Potter's — behaviour. Zabini was actually _screaming_.'

'Zabini?' Professor Snape's mouth tightened, and he turned back to Professor McGonagall. 'Minerva, this is clearly a House matter. I will deal with it. Is that all?'

With a dignified look, she straightened her robes and lifted her chin. 'It appears so. Good day, Professor Snape. Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy.'

'Goodbye, Professor McGonagall,' the boys chorused resentfully.

'Oh, and Minerva?' Snape called after her, a cruel smile curling his lips. 'The answer is two.'

'I beg your pardon?' She stopped on the threshold, glancing back at them.

'Surely you can count the _two_ rules that they broke?'

That, apparently, did not merit a reply; she said something to the wall, walked through — and they were left alone with Professor Snape.

He said nothing, only stared at them a moment. The boys huddled together. 'Follow me,' he said.

They gulped, but didn't dare disobey, and soon found themselves in his office, seated opposite their Head of House. The familiar bottled creatures and plants were back. Several seemed to be gurgling.

'Perhaps,' Professor Snape said, his voice dangerously soft, 'you two would care to explain yourselves.'

Draco's throat seemed to seize up, but Harry rushed right ahead. 'Well, I'm not sure where you want us to start, but, er, it began with Neville really, he went up on the broom and fell down and Madam Hooch took him away, and then Parkinson laughed at him and took his Remembrall on her broom, so I had to save it. His grandmother got it for him, and he would have been so angry, or upset, or something, if anything happened to it. _And_ he wouldn't know when he's forgotten stuff. So I got it.'

'I believe I had apprehended that aspect of the scenario, Mr Potter,' said Snape. He didn't seem too angry. Yet.

Draco entered the fray. 'Pansy said something sort of funny about Longbottom, and I was laughing, and then Harry told me to stop, because Longbottom's his cousin — and so I did. And then Zabini said . . . ' Draco scowled. 'He said I was an animal, for taking orders from the son of a . . . of a Muggleborn, and he was going to tell my father. So I hexed him. _Furunculus_.'

'And which did you use, Mr Potter?'

'_Petrificus Totalus,' _said Harry, his green eyes hard and blazing. Professor Snape's mouth tightened. 'Professor, Zabini didn't say Muggleborn. He called my mother a Mudblood — a filthy Mudblood, that's what he said.' Draco blinked. Had Professor Snape twitched? 'That's why he deserved it! My mother is worth _ten_ of him and she was far more talented than that vile little rat will _ever _be — '

He was shouting now, shouting at _Professor Snape_ — Draco grabbed Harry's sleeve and hissed, 'Harry! be _quiet!_'

'Malfoy. Potter.' Snape clasped his long, potion-stained fingers together, and stared at the boys over them. 'Let me make myself perfectly clear. You retaliated, quite rightly, against what might well be called a vicious and unprovoked attack.' He allowed this to sink in. '_However_, you — are — Slytherins. We do not get vengeance by throwing spells about in full sight of half the first year, and we certainly do not betray our House's weaknesses in public! Keep your pathetic little quarrels inside the dungeons.'

Draco muttered, 'They started it.'

'I am quite aware of that, Mr Bl—Malfoy. They will be disciplined. Well? Why are you still here?'

'Er,' said Harry, 'aren't you going to punish us? Take points, or something?'

'Damage Slytherin's chances because of Blaise Zabini's vapid insults? Nonsense. You will both have detention, twice a week.'

Draco and Harry looked at each other. 'Okay,' said Harry.

'That's it?'

Harry's bony elbow hit Draco's ribs. He gasped for air.

'Unfortunately, as your little demonstration was so _public_, you will likely find yourself before the Headmaster.' Snape shrugged. 'Now, get out before I think of anything more creative.'

They fled.


End file.
